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BookJBnS2A 
Copight N n _ Vo. _. 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




























23 - ! 2-f 3* 








VOICES 













ii§ 








Copyright, 1923, by 
The Century Co. 

Copyright, 1922 , by 
Frank A. Munsey Comfany 


* 

* % 
«« « 


©C1A711784 

*V» f 

ii i' r 

PRINTED IN U. S, A. 


SEP-7’23 



To 

“BOB” (R. H.) DAVIS 




CONTENTS 


CHATTER 

I 

Vocal Terrors . 

• • 


• 

• 

PAGE 

3 

II 

The Trouble-Shooter 

. ... 

•• 

• 

• 

21 

III 

The Triumvirate . 




• 

41 

IV 

Four Minutes of Darkness . 



• 

56 

V 

Corson Makes an Arrest 




• 

72 

VI 

Theories and Facts . 




• 

79 

VII 

Flight. 





92 

VIII 

A New Man in the Case 




• 

107 

IX 

Nick Napolielo 




• 

125 

X 

The Twelfth Hour . 




• 

137 

XI 

A Trick that Failed . 




• 

151 

XII 

Seth’s Adventure . 




• 

169 

XIII 

The Voltmeter Test . 




• 

185 

XIV 

A Hundred Voices 




• 

199 

XV 

Trinity Chimes 




• 

218 

XVI 

The Bargain 




• 

236 

XVII 

And There Came a Voice 



• 

256 

XVIII 

Corson is Enlightened 




• 

274 

XIX 

At Ten O’Clock . 




• 

291 

XX 

Revelations 




• 

302 

XXI 

The Smallest Voice . 




• 

314 















VOICES 







VOICES 

CHAPTER I 

VOCAL TERRORS 

C ALL it idle curiosity—anything you 
will—but I want to know why Warren 
Willmer has discontinued telephone service at 
his home in the city and at his country place at 
Westbury. I want to know why he refuses 
to answer the telephone at his Broadway 
office.” 

F. H. Reeves, president of the telephone 
company, regarded Inspector Corson of the 
police department shrewdly. 

“Are you sure of your facts?” he coun¬ 
tered. 

“Absolutely, Mr. Reeves,” replied the in¬ 
spector. “I Ve tried to get him at all three 
places.” 

“Why?” quizzed Reeves. 

“Because I Ve heard rumors of strange 

occurrences, matters which should properly be 

3 


VOICES 


brought to the attention of my department. 
In my opinion, Mr. Reeves, you ’ll be doing 
Willmer a real kindness if you tell me what 
you know.” 

Reeves appeared to be impressed by Cor¬ 
son’s earnest manner. 

“I ’ll tell you, gladly, inspector,” he agreed. 
“Willmer came in here about a week ago, 
very much agitated, and apparently laboring 
under some great strain. He announced that 
he wished to cancel his contracts for telephone 
service at his home on the Drive and at his 
place at Westbury. I immediately con¬ 
cluded that he had some ulterior motive in 
visiting me, since the small matter he brought 
to my attention was one that might properly 
be handled by a letter or telephone call to 
any of our local offices. In an effort to draw 
him out I asked what his reasons were for 
objecting to telephone service. He was stub¬ 
born and refused, to divulge them. While 
we were talking this telephone on my desk 
rang. 

“ ‘If that call is for me, say I ’ve just left 
here,’ he begged, as I lifted the receiver. 
Sure enough it was, and I did as he directed. 
He was very much upset. 


VOCAL TERRORS 


5 


“ ‘Man or woman?’ he inquired. 

“ ‘Man,’ I answered. ‘Sounded like ari 
Italian.’ 

“ ‘My God!’ he muttered, and buried his 
face in his arms, right here at the desk. 
In a few minutes he pulled himself to¬ 
gether. 

“ ‘Rip out the equipment!’ he ordered. 
‘Every wire and every instrument!’ 

“I expostulated with him, stating that a 
man of his position could not afford to iso¬ 
late himself by dispensing with the telephone. 
He was obdurate, however, and refused to re¬ 
scind his order; so last night we discontinued 
his service at the central office. We have not 
yet removed the somewhat elaborate equip¬ 
ment from his premises.” 

Corson nodded. 

“Is n’t it strange,” he reflected, “that a man 
of Willmer’s type, a man with thirty years 
of business experience and the ability to ac¬ 
cumulate millions, should take action of this 
kind and at the same time surround the affair 
with mystery? What is your personal opin¬ 
ion, Mr. Reeves?” 

Reeves hesitated, then opened a humidor 
and offered Corson a cigar. The latter 


6 VOICES 

waved it away impatiently, with a word of 
thanks. 

“I have n’t a very pronounced opinion,” 
observed Reeves. “Willmer is a man of un¬ 
usual intelligence, and his actions in this mat¬ 
ter are decidedly mystifying. He is stub¬ 
bornly silent on the reason for his aversion to 
the telephone, but his attitude and my pre¬ 
vious acquaintance with him lead me to believe 
his reason is a good one. Still, it is possible 
that overwork or worry have wrought 'havoc 
with his mentality and nervous system, and 
a temporary aberration may have resulted.” 

“You are acquainted with him, then?” 

“In a casual way—yes. We are both mem¬ 
bers of the Ibis Club. Willmer maintains a 
suite there, but until recently he has rarely 
spent a night in his room. Night before last 
I was somewhat amused to hear him order the 
steward to have the extension telephone in his 
room removed, as he contemplated staying 
overnight and did not wish to be disturbed.” 

“He ’s not married, I believe?” 

“He’s not. He’s about fifty years of age 
and a self-made man. Was once a newsboy. 
Now he’s one of the triumvirate. He and 
Otis King and Pendleton Kirke collectively 


VOCAL TERRORS 7 

are figures in international finance. Foreign 
powers are their clients. If he is deranged 
and incompetent I shudder to think of the 
consequences. His associates are by no means 
brilliant financiers.” 

“Could he be influenced by them?” 

“I doubt it,” responded Reeves dubiously. 
“He usually dominates the other two.” 

There was a long silence, finally broken by 
Corson. 

“By the way,” he observed, “you mentioned 
an Italian telephoning here for Willmer on 
the occasion of his visit. What did the fel¬ 
low say when you told him Willmer had 
left?” 

“He said, ‘That’s a lie!’ and hung up im¬ 
mediately.” 

Corson nodded knowingly. 

“I ’ll turn Fornaro loose on the case,” he 
announced. “If it’s Black Hand stuff, Pie¬ 
tro will get the answer!” 

“I had an idea it might be something of the 
sort,” commented Reeves. “Why don’t you 
interview Willmer?” 

“I’m going to. Perhaps I ’ll manage to 
get him talking.” 

“When will you see him?” asked Reeves. 


8 


VOICES 


“At once.” 

The telephone on Reeves’s desk rang 
sharply, and the president answered its sum¬ 
mons. 

“Show him in,” he directed, and replaced 
the receiver. Then he turned to Corson. 

“Willmer is outside,” he announced. “He 
wants to see me immediately.” 

Warren Willmer was shown into the room 
by Reeves’s secretary. Willmer bulked large 
and carried his fifty years lightly. He was 
smooth-shaven, his complexion was somewhat 
pale but clear, and there were few lines in 
his countenance. All of his features were 
large, and a caricaturist would have been puz¬ 
zled to fix upon the predominating one. His 
forehead was unusually high, his chin unusu¬ 
ally square, his e}^es clear and unusually blue. 
The perfect cut of his business suit revealed 
a soldierly bearing, and his general 
appearance suggested latent physical 
strength. 

Willmer looked from Reeves to Corson in¬ 
quiringly. 

“I thought you were alone,” he remarked 
in a monotone that invited Corson’s dismis¬ 
sal. 


VOCAL TERRORS 9 

“This is Inspector Corson of the police de¬ 
partment,” introduced Reeves. 

“How do? I ’ll see you after Corson goes, 
Reeves.” He turned on his heel as if to quit 
the room. 

“One moment, Mr. Willmer.” Corson’s 
tone was sufficiently sharp to bring the finan¬ 
cier back. “I was just on my way to your 
office. This little affair—” 

“Is ended,” concluded Willmer finally. 
“If you ’re leaving, good day.” 

“If you ’ve been annoyed—if it’s Black 
Hand stuff or—” 

“It is n’t,” snapped Willmer. “If it was, 
it would be none of your business.” 

Corson shrugged his shoulders. 

“Good day, Mr. Reeves. And good after¬ 
noon, Mr. Willmer. Sooner or later you will 
call on me, and when you do I shall teach you 
a lesson in courtesy.” 

The inspector withdrew in anger, and Will¬ 
mer entirely ignored his parting prediction. 

“About that telephone service, Reeves,” he 
began in a casual manner that failed to im¬ 
press the telephone man, “I find that your 
men were right. I simply can’t do without 
telephones, and I want service restored to- 



10 VOICES 

night. I m afraid I didn’t give the matter 
enough thought.” 

“You didn’t,” responded Reeves succinctly. 
“Some years ago Theodore N. Vail undertook 
to advertise the telephone to show how it could 
be used instead of a letter, or a telegram, or a 
personal call, or a trip to another city. One 
of the directors of the American Telephone 
and Telegraph Company told Vail that the 
money should not be spent for advertising but 
for dividends. He held that advertising was 
unnecessary because everybody knew about 
the telephone. Do you know what Vail told 
him?” 

“No,” acknowledged Willmer. 

“Vail said: ‘Yes, everybody knows about 
the telephone, but, damn it, they don’t think 
about it enough. If I can make them think 
about it oftener, they ’ll use it oftener.’ ” 

Willmer nodded agreement. 

“Good dope,” he acquiesced. “Great man, 
Vail. Knew him pretty well. Will you have 
that service restored to-night?” 

“To be sure. I presume—” 

The telephone on Reeves’s desk rang. 

“It’s for you,” announced Reeves. “Miss 



VOCAL TERRORS 11 

Carewe, your secretary, wishes to speak to 
you.” 

Willmer accepted the instrument hesitat¬ 
ingly, as if he were afraid of it. 

“Yes?” he greeted questioningly. He list¬ 
ened for about a minute and then banged the 
receiver on the hook. When he faced Reeves 
again he was shaking with anger or fear, and 
his countenance was horribly distorted. 

“That’s what I mean!” he exploded, bang¬ 
ing the desk. “That wasn’t my secretary! 
It was a man. Sounded like a very old man. 
It’s got to be stopped, do you hear? Those 
damned voices are killing me, and you peo¬ 
ple must do something about it!” 

The suave Mr. Reeves regarded Willmer in¬ 
quiringly. The financier was white and shak¬ 
ing like an aspen. 

“Come, calm yourself, Mr. Willmer,” coun¬ 
seled Reeves. “If I’m to do anything for 
you I must have further facts. A moment 
ago you requested me to have your telephone 
service restored at your office. I presume 
that you wish to have it restored at your res¬ 
idence in the city and in Westbury as well. 
Is that right?” 


12 yoices 

“Absolutely, if you 11 agree to eliminate 
the annoyances to which I ’ve been subjected/’ 

“I can’t agree to anything unless I know 
the facts. What is wrong, Mr. Willmer?” 

The financier silently stared at Reeves, as if 
measuring his man. His face plainly indi¬ 
cated when he had arrived at a decision. 

“I ’ll tell you all that I may, Reeves,” he 
announced in a somewhat conciliatory man¬ 
ner. “This, of course, is strictly confidential. 
I would be a blockhead, indeed, if I didn’t 
realize the advantages of using the telephone. 
It’s the greatest time and money sayer in 
civilized life to-day. For years I’ve trans¬ 
acted most of my business by telephone. It 
has kept me in touch with my agents and as¬ 
sociates, regardless of local conditions or dis¬ 
tance. The telephone has become the welder 
of a nation; it has made the continent a com¬ 
munity.” 

“Great phrase, that last,” beamed Reeves, 
scribbling on a pad. “Welder of a nation! 
The continent a community! That will make 
a fine advertisement. Beg your pardon; pray 
continue!” 

“I’ve never believed in making exclu¬ 
siveness a fetish,” resumed Willmer. “My 


VOCAL TERRORS 13 

office door is always open to any Oi my asso¬ 
ciates, employees, or clients. In the same 
manner I ’ve been easily accessible by tele¬ 
phone. Only infrequently have I been too 
busy to talk to any one who called me. An¬ 
swering my own telephone has become a habit 
with me and it’s a damned hard habit to 
break.” 

“It’s too good a habit to break,” smiled 
Reeves. 

“I agree with you, but I Ve reached the 
point where I must either break the habit or it 
will break me!” 

“Why?” The telephone man did not at¬ 
tempt to conceal his interest. 

“The voices!” responded Willmer, his voice 
dropping to an impressive whisper. “I Ve 
reached the point where I don’t dare look at 
one of your shining black instruments. I Ve 
been harassed, day and night, by a gang of— 
of, oh, I don’t know what to call them! No 
matter where I go, if there’s a telephone 
about, they seek me. If I answer, it’s al¬ 
ways the same. There’s any number of 
them at work—old men and old women, 
young men and young women, Irishmen, 
Frenchmen, Italians, Chinese! They ’re try- 


14 VOICES 

ing to bleed me; it’s extortion, it ’s robbery, 
it’s blackmail!” 

He had gradually raised his voice in an in¬ 
creasing crescendo that brought his fist down 
on the desk with the word “blackmail,” and 
Reeves involuntarily sat erect with a jerk. 

“I assume that your reference to the va¬ 
rious members of this gang, their ages, sex, 
and nationalities, is based on your telephone 
conversations with them? You haven’t seen 
any of them?” 

“Of. course not. If I had the slightest clue 
to the identity to just one of them I would 
have something tangible on which to work. 
But the mystery, the strange voices, the un¬ 
earthly hours, are wearing me out. My 
nerves are fairly on edge. When I hear a 
telephone bell ring I feel like crying out! 
I ’ve lost all restraint!” 

“Tell me this, Mr. Willmer. How long 
has this continued?” 

“About a month. I feel that I’m watched 
all the time. No matter where I go, the gang 
seems to reach me. They follow my move¬ 
ments with unerring precision. During the 
last two weeks I haven’t taken a receiver 
off the hook to answer a call. Miss Carewe 


VOCAL TERRORS 


15 


or my stenographer has answered for me and, 
if convinced that the call is a legitimate one, 
has turned it over to me. Even that has n’t 
worked. They are acquainted with details of 
my business; they give the names of my 
friends and associates as their own. You saw 
—just now. Some one called and claimed to 
be Miss Carewe; but, when I answered, it 
was a man who talked!” 

“Why don’t you leave town for a bit?” sug¬ 
gested Reeves. “Take a little vacation.” 

“For three reasons,” thundered Willmer 
impatiently and without hesitation. “In the 
first place, they’d find me no matter where 
I went. In the second place, I never ran 
away from a fight yet, and I don’t like to 
admit defeat. And, finally, I’m in the midst 
of a collossal financiering plan involving the 
bonded debts of half the major capitals of 
Europe, and my presence right here in New 
York is absolutely essential.” 

“May I inquire as to the nature of the mes¬ 
sages you receive by telephone from this 
gang?” asked Reeves. 

“You may like hell!” retorted Willmer. 
“I’ve told you all I ’ll tell any one. It’s en¬ 
tirely a matter of principle; I simply refuse to 


16 


VOICES 


be browbeaten, intimidated, or bled. But I 
do demand that you people put a stop to the 
use of the telephone for this nefarious pur¬ 
pose. Now, then—what do you propose do- 
ing?” 

Reeves was apparently perplexed. He 
was genuinely eager to relieve the situation, 
but was helpless, and disliked the idea of ac¬ 
knowledging it. 

“It is extremely unfortunate,” he began, 
apologetically, “but the telephone is like the 
Sun that shines alike upon the just and the 
unjust, and like the rain that falls equally 
upon the evil and the good. It stands ready 
to serve all mankind, without regard to na¬ 
tionality, language, or morals. It is the 
greatest of democrats and most absolute of 
cosmopolites. 

“If enemies of society choose to use it, we 
are in no position to forbid it. It is a marvel¬ 
ous mechanism, so delicate that it is operated 
by the slightest sound. The slight vibration 
of the vocal cords is actually the power that 
puts it in operation. We have no means of 
searching the souls of our subscribers or pa¬ 
trons. We have no means of determining 


VOCAL TERRORS 17 

their purposes or motives. How then are we 

\ 

to act? How can we assist you?” 

“I don’t give a damn how you do it!” barked 
Willmer. “You know your business, and I 
know mine. There must be certain things 
you people can do; wire tapping, and that 
sort of thing, I mean. If you get the answer, 
bring it to me; I don’t want any publicity. 
If I did I could tell my story to Corson or 
give it to a private detective.” 

Reeves meditated for a few minutes. His 
face brightened. 

“I think I have the answer,” he announced. 
“This affair needs a specialist—an expert. 
It needs a detective who is a telephone man. 
I ’ll call in Charlie Fenwick for you.” 

“Who is Charlie Fenwick?” demanded the 
millionaire. 

“During working hours Fenwick is a wire- 
chief for a relatively small company known 
as the Traders’ Telephone Company. We 
call it a connecting company, because we have 
an agreement with it regarding the inter¬ 
change of business. Fenwick is a good man, 
practically and technically. Outside of work¬ 
ing hours he indulges a peculiar hobby, the 


18 


VOICES 


detection of crime by telephone. He has been 
very successful, too; so successful, in fact, that 
the police in all the large cities know him as 
the ‘phonic criminologist.’ He recovered 
Diamond Jim Ordway’s jewels; he solved the 
problem of Lady Tsai’s disappearance; and 
he has even aided government agents in im¬ 
portant cases. Yes, sir; Charlie Fenwick is 
your man!” 

A faint glimmer of awakened hope was 
newly visible in Willmer’s manner. 

“You say he does all of his detective work 
by telephone?” he inquired. 

“Absolutely; or, by the ‘spoken word,’ as 
he phrases it. He never spends much time 
on a case, either, and is unusually reliable 
and discreet.” 

“You are sure that this paragon of a sleuth 
is available? There will be no difficulty in 
obtaining his services?” catechized Willmer. 

“None at all,” assured Reeves, touching a 
buzzer button beneath his desk. A young 
man answered its summons and waited atten¬ 
tively. 

“Call up President Hynes of the Traders’ 
Company at Springfield,” he directed, “and 
tell him that I would like to borrow Charlie 


VOCAL TERRORS 19 

Fenwick at once for some important work. 
Arrange to send him a wire-chief to substi¬ 
tute for Fenwick during his absence. Let 
me know how soon we can expect him.” 

“Yes, sir.” The young man withdrew. 

“I feel sure that your troubles are ended,” 
encouraged Reeves. “Why, Fenwick’s the 
boy that restored the stolen crystal wine-pot 
to the Kensington Museum. He’s a verita¬ 
ble wizard of the wires! I ’ve known of cases 
where he has seated himself at a telephone 
and by means of half a dozen calls has success¬ 
fully solved unusual problems without leav¬ 
ing his desk. No time lost in leg-work, or in 
running around with a magnifying-glass. 
And he only a kid, too!” 

“How old?” asked Willmer. 

“Twenty-one. Been at the telephone game 
for five years. Red-headed, freckled, and 
blue-eyed, but a little gentleman, and well 
read. He ’s actually a big man in Spring- 
field, but he’s entirely unspoiled and is en¬ 
dowed with all the pep and enthusiasm of 
youth. You ’ll like him.” 

“After—not before!” commented Willmer 
grimly. “I’ve seen too many boy wopder 
bubbles explode!” 


20 


VOICES 


The young man reentered Reeves’s office. 

“Mr. Hynes says that Fenwick will be here 
at ten to-morrow morning. An assistant 
named Boyden is leaving now, and will see 
you this afternoon to get the facts and do such 
preliminary work as may be necessary.” 

“Good,” ejaculated Reeves, dismissing his 
employee. “This fellow Boyden is a sort of 
trouble-shooter who works for Fenwick, and I 
understand that he has assisted him occasion¬ 
ally in recent cases. With those two men on 
the job I can safely venture the prediction that 
your desperados will soon be in the clutches 
of the law!” 

“That’s not what I want,” objected Will- 
mer, as he made for the door. “I’m not so 
keen about catching them; I just want him 
to shut up those everlasting voices!” 


CHAPTER II 


THE TROUBLE-SHOOTER 

S ETH BOYDEN entered the terminal 
room at Springfield, chuckling silently. 
He was a thin wisp of a man, weighing not 
much more than a hundred pounds. Despite 
his sixty years, he gave a decided impression 
of agility, and his gray eyes held a semi- 
humorous expression that made one wonder if 
he was ever serious. 

“Want to see me, boss?” he inquired, ap¬ 
proaching the wire-chief's desk, at which Fen¬ 
wick had just completed the testing of a new 
line. 

“I do,” responded Fenwick. He glanced 

up at his aged but dependable trouble-shooter. 

“Why all the merriment?” he demanded. 

“Gosh, ’twas funny!” cackled Boyden, 

stirred anew by the reminder. “I found a 

break in the River City toll-line, jest about 

where you measured it to be, and fixed it up. 

Well, sir, those women down along the creek 

21 


22 


VOICES 


are aiways beggin’ me for wire, so’s they kin 
use it for clothes-line. Guess I made a mis¬ 
take when I give some to Mrs. Dobson that 
time. I jest about got through to-day and 
was packin’ my tool kit away in the flivver 
when Mrs. Olsen bobs up. 

“ *Say, Mr. Boy den,’ sez she, roundabout 
like, ‘will you tell me whut kind of wire is 
good for clothes-line?’ 

“ Y’ see, she did n’t want to ask me for it 
outright. ‘Sure kin,’ I answers. ‘Nothin’ 
better ’n barbed wire; ye don't have to use no 
clothes-pins!” 

Fenwick laughed heartily, and his assistant 
shook with repressed merriment. 

“Gosh, ye should ’a’ seen her face!” he con¬ 
tinued, and sobered almost instantly as he de¬ 
tected a dawning impatience in the wire-chief’s 
keen blue eyes. 

“Seth,” announced Charlie impressively, 
“your dream has come true. You’ve always 
wanted to assist me in a big out-of-town case. 
You ’re going to New York right away.” 

“Me! N’York!” gasped the old fellow in¬ 
credulously. “Ye can’t mean it!” 

“But I do,” smiled Fenwick. “We’ve 
never been able to get away together before, 


THE TROUBLE-SHOOTER 23 


but this time Mr. Reeves is going to send a 
wire-chief in from the big city to run things 
while we are away. It will be nice to spend a 
couple of days in New York again.” 

“It sure will,” affirmed Boy den enthusiasti¬ 
cally. “When do we start?” 

“You will leave at once. I’m not supposed 
to get there until ten o’clock to-morrow morn¬ 
ing, but if my substitute arrives pretty soon 
I may be able to take the late train to-night. 
I’m relying on you, Seth, to do a whole lot of 
work before I get there.” 

“I’ll do my durnedest!” promised the 
trouble-shooter. “Whut’s the case? murder?” 

“No—blackmail,” advised Fenwick. 

Boy den’s disappointment was more than 
evident. 

“Gosh, we ain’t never had a murder case 
yet!” he complained. 

“Perhaps we will some day,” encouraged 
Fenwick, amused. “In the meantime we ’re 
going to mingle in society. I’m going to 
send you to the home of Warren Willmer.” 

“Charlie,” declared his assistant, ‘“if you ’re 
gonna do that, I warn you that I’m takin’ 
along my church-deacon coat!” 

“That will be very appropriate, I’m sure,” 


24 


VOICES 


agreed the younger man. “Now, listen. 
Mr. Reeves arranged with Mr. Hynes to have 
me take this case. Hynes readily agreed 
when I asked if you might accompany me. 
The case appears to be very simple, although 
it is n’t fair to judge until you have first¬ 
hand information. I’ve telephoned the peo¬ 
ple in New York and have obtained some 
sketchy facts. Willmer is about the wealthi¬ 
est man in New York. Some blackmailing 
gang has been at work, calling him on the tele¬ 
phone at all hours of the day and night, and 
worrying him. 

“He’s reached the point where he can’t look 
at a telephone instrument. Reeves has told 
him that we will round up the gang. I want 
you to go to Mr. Reeves’s office as soon as you 
reach New York. His secretary will turn 
you over to a man who will answer any ques¬ 
tions and produce any records you require. 
A simple examination of the billing-records 
and toll-tickets may tell the whole story.” 

“I won’t have a chanst to get much infor¬ 
mation before closing-time,” reminded Boy- 
den. 

“You ’ll have a couple of hours. Do what 
you can. After you have your supper 


THE TROUBLE-SHOOTER 25 


I want you to call on Warren Willmer. I 
have n’t the slightest idea of what he’s like, 
so you ’ll have to study him. Get as much 
information out of him as you can without 
talking.” 

Seth Boyden nodded. “As it says in the 
first book of James, nineteenth verse, ‘Let 
every man be swift to hear, but slow to speak.’ 
I ’ll pump him.” 

“Seth,” smiled his young superior, “you are 
going to be a treat to New York. You ’ll be 
the first Scripture-quoting telephone man 
they’ve ever encountered. I venture the pre¬ 
diction that you will be a puzzle to the met¬ 
ropolitan telephone people, crooks, and finan¬ 
ciers. 

“Remember, I expect a good job. When I 
reach New York I ’ll be tickled to death if 
you have the case entirely completed. If you 
have n’t, the least I ’ll expect will be a whole 
package of assorted clues.” 

“You ’ll get ’em,” promised Boyden res¬ 
olutely. “What hotel do I stay at?” 

“Go to the Commodore. I’ve made reser¬ 
vations for both of us. Miss Garrison, in the 
commercial office, will give you an advance 
for expenses. Pack up right away and make 


26 


VOICES 


the next train. Oh—one other thing: don’t 
tell a soul that I may reach the city before 
morning. Furthermore, I’d like you to ar¬ 
range with Mr. Willmer to have me introduced 
to his associates as John Bell. There may be 
telephone people involved in this case, and 
I’d prefer not to be known for 1 a while. Good 
luck to you.” 

The old man departed on his mission with 
the ardor of a school-boy on a holiday. This 
spirit was intensified rather than diminished 
when he reached the executive offices of the 
'telephone company in New York. Reeves 
was somewhat amused at the frock-coated, 
white-haired little man, but at the end of a 
short interview was inclined to respect Boy- 
den’s knowledge of the business. 

The old fellow requested the privilege of 
examining specific records of the various de¬ 
partments, and was so thorough and methodi¬ 
cal in his perusal of them that it was very evi¬ 
dent that his association with the young 
phonic criminologist had acquainted him with 
the latter’s methods. 

At eight o’clock that evening Seth pounded 
vigorously at the antique knocker on the door 
of Warren Willmer’s home on Riverside 


THE TROUBLE-SHOOTER 27 

Drive. The man who answered his summons 
was not agreeably impressed by the visitor’s 
somewhat funereal appearance, considerably 
aggravated as it was by a tiny white lawn tie 
and a wide expanse of shirt-bosom. 

“I’m Mr. Seth Boyden,” he announced. “I 
want to see Mr. Willmer.” 

“Mr. Willmer cannot be disturbed,” ad¬ 
vised the unemotional Riggs. 

“ ’Cept by me,” retorted the little man. 

“By no one, sir. Standing order, sir, for 
over a week.” 

“In the words of the fourth chapter and 
fifth verse o’ Proverbs, ‘Forget it!’ Mr. 
Willmer sent to Springfield for me. I’m 
here by appointment.” 

“I beg your pardon, sir. Pray be seated.” 

Somewhat doubtfully Riggs withdrew. 
Boyden’s eyes darted about, taking in every 
detail of the spacious reception-hall, the broad 
circular stairway, and the sumptuous furnish¬ 
ings. 

Riggs returned to the foot of the stairs, 
and in his precise manner announced: “Mr. 
Willmer will see you, sir, in his den. This 
way, if you please.” 

Retaining possession of a small tan leather 


28 


VOICES 


bag of doubtful appearance, Boyden per¬ 
mitted Riggs to usher him into Willmer’s 
presence. The financier was seated before an 
open fireplace, in the grate of which a fire of 
cannel-coal smoldered. He nodded to Boy¬ 
den. 

“Evening. Find a chair. More light, 
Riggs.” 

Riggs snapped on the lights and withdrew. 
The two men regarded each other apprais¬ 
ingly. Boyden was keen in his scrutiny. 
Willmer appeared less so and was apparently 
weary. 

“What time did you get in?” asked Will¬ 
mer. 

“Three o’clock. I’ve seen Mr. Reeves, and 
since then I’ve been investigatin’.” 

“Great Cassar! What?” 

“Kind of telephone equipment in this here 
palace o’ yourn and in your home in West- 
bury, for one thing. Then I’ve been tryin’ 
to find out the names o’ people who tele¬ 
phone you f’m out of town. In other words, 
I’m tryin’ to clear the tracks for Charlie 
Fenwick.” 

Willmer smiled indulgently. 

“Looks like action,” he conceded. “The 


THE TROUBLE-SHOOTER 29 

telephone people seem to have a high regard 
for Fenwick.” 

“They should, Mr. Willmer. That boy is 
a wonder. He jest tangles crooks up in a 
mesh of copper wire. Why, he kin purty near 
tell what a man looks like jest from hearin’ 
his voice over the telephone.” 

“H-m. We shall see. Reeves says the 
same thing. I put it up to Reeves pretty 
stiff; just passed the buck entirely to him and 
told him he would have to stop all that damned 
funny business over my telephone. Of 
course, it is n’t the fault of the telephone com¬ 
pany, but Reeves fell for it and used his good 
offices to get Fenwick for me.” 

“You were only follerin’ Scripture when 
you went to him. In the sixty-eighth Psalm, 
the thirtieth verse, it sez, ‘Rebuke the com¬ 
pany.’ That’s what you did.” 

Willmer chuckled. “I hardly expected to 
find the telephone company in the Bible,” he 
observed. 

“The Good Book is full o’ references to the 
telephone,” advised Boyden in a manner that 
made Willmer stare. “F’r instance, the nine¬ 
teenth Psalm, fourth verse, is a purty good 
description of the hull Bell system. It reads, 


30 


VOICES 


‘Their line is gone out to all the earth and 
their words to the end o’ the world.’ ” 

“I ’ll have to look it up some time and see 
if you ’re stringing me,” smiled Willmer. 
“But I like a man with a sense of humor. 
Let’s get to work. Is there anything you 
want to ask me?” 

“Only one thing, and you won’t answer 
that.” 

“What?” inquired Willmer. 

“Mr. Beeves told me all he knew about the 
case. The most important thing he did n’t 
know. I mean by that, the kind o’ messages 
you receive over the telephone.” 

The millionaire stiffened in his chair and 
his cordial manner vanished. 

“If I have my way, you never will know,” 
he observed grimly. “It does n’t matter, any¬ 
way. I don’t want to discuss the messages; 
I want to eliminate them.” 

“Very well, sir,” answered Boyden simply. 
“You ’re jest makin’ it a little harder, and it ’ll 
take Mr. Fenwick a bit longer to clear things 

r> 

up. 

“How much longer?” 

“Oh, mebbe half a day!” 


THE TROUBLE-SHOOTER 31 

“Great Caesar! Does he work as fast as 
that?” 

Boy den nodded. “Know what he said, 
Mr. Willmer, when he sent me here? He 
said: T ’ll take the first train in the morn- 
in’. It ’ll be nice to spend a couple o’ days 
in New York again.’ Yes, sir; that’s what 
he said—a couple o’ days.” 

Willmer subjected Boy den to a searching 
scrutiny. 

“Believe him do you?” he asked. 

The little man nodded. 

“Good enough. I’m beginning to feel the 
same way myself. Now, aside from the one 
thing we’ve already discussed and definitely 
disposed of, what else would you like to 
know?” 

Boy den opened his leather bag, removed 
some yellow sheets of paper, and spread them 
out on a table. 

“I understand you don’t know where any of 
these spooky calls come from. If they are 
made from out o’ town, we kin trace ’em.” 

“How?” quizzed Willmer. 

“By the telephone company’s toll-tickets. 
The operators in the central offices write a 


32 


VOICES 


ticket for every toll-call. It shows the date, 
the number callin’, the number called, the 
time o’ day when connection was established, 
and the time when the conversation was ended. 
Those tickets are what we bill the toll-charges 
from.” 

“By Jove! That’s news. I should say 
you can trace them. But suppose the calls 
are made from telephones right here in town? 
Can’t you trace them in the same way?” 

“No, sir. They don’t write tickets for 
local messages. When you contract for tele¬ 
phone service you buy a certain number o’ 
local messages per month. The messages are 
registered automatically as you use ’em. The 
company finds out whether you have used 
more messages or less than you are entitled to 
by readin’ the indicator on the automatic reg¬ 
ister for your telephone.” 

“Where are these registers?” inquired Will- 
mer. 

“In the terminal room of each central of¬ 
fice. There is one for every telephone line. 
So many local calls are made each day that 
it would slow up the service an’ make it al¬ 
mighty expensive if the operators had to write 
a ticket on every local call,” 


THE TROUBLE-SHOOTER 33 


“I see,” commented Willmer. “How 
about the toll-calls—how many tickets are 
written?” 

“I reckon your telephone company down 
here writes about ten to fifteen million a 
month,” answered Seth. 

“Great Caesar! You don’t expect to look 
through them for calls to my telephone, do 
you?” 

“No, sir, I don’t. You see, you told Mr. 
Reeves that the persons annoyin’ you seem to 
have information about everything 1 you do; 
that, no matter where you go, the voices toi¬ 
ler you. That made me think that mebbe 
some one in your office was in cahoots with 
this gang on the outside. Now, if that’s the 
case, the telephone would probably be used to 
let the voices know about your movements. 
I had a list made up of all out-o’-town tele¬ 
phones called f’m your residences or your of¬ 
fice. 

“That was easy, ’cause all the tickets 
charged to each telephone are filed together. 
Then I investigated to see whether any o’ 
those numbers called you. Some of ’em did, 
and I’ve got ’em on another list. For ex¬ 
ample, I found that calls were made from Bar- 


34 


VOICES 


clay 13,000 and from Riverside 11,980 to 
Boulevard 5381 and to Newton 4987. Then 
I learned that those Boulevard and Newton 
subscribers called your telephone numbers 
purty frequently.” 

“Boulevard 5381 is Otis King’s telephone 
number,” announced Willmer, “and Newton 
4987 is Pendleton Kirke’s. They are my 
business associates, and have occasion to call 
both my office and my home frequently. Of 
course, we have many calls, both outgoing and 
incoming, with which I’m not familiar. 

“My secretary, Miss Care we, will be of 
some assistance to you in checking up these 
lists and eliminating numbers such as I have 
just mentioned. I don’t want you annoying 
folks who are above suspicion.” 

“Nobody is above suspicion,” observed Boy- 
den. “I ’ll be glad to have a talk with your 
secretary.” 

“Right away?” 

“If I kin,” answered Boyden, somewhat 
surprised. 

“Lives here,” advised Willmer, pulling a 
bell-rope at the side of the fireplace. “She is 
a capable girl, too—daughter of an old friend 
of mine. He went to smash financially, and 


THE TROUBLE-SHOOTER 35 

before he died I promised him that I would do 
the ri—that is, that I would look after her.” 

“You rang, sir?” questioned Riggs, who 
had silently entered the room. 

“Yes. Ask Miss Carewe to step in for a 
moment, if she ’s disengaged.” 

“Yes, sir.” The man withdrew. 

“While we are waiting,” said Boy den, “I’d 
like to suggest that you keep a record of the 
time at which you receive these queer mes¬ 
sages. It may help Mr. Fenwick if he wants 
to look over toll-tickets later on. Another 
thing you ought to do is to answer the tele¬ 
phone even if you ’re positive that the feller 
callin’ you is a member o’ the gang and is 
tryin’ to annoy you. Keep ’em talkin’, and 
sooner or later they ’ll give themselves away. 
Mebbe it will get you a little bit peeved, 
but it ’ll give Fenwick a better chance to 
work.” 

“Old man,” confided Willmer, “this morn¬ 
ing I’d have turned you down cold on that 
proposition; to-night I feel that we ’re going 
to get somewhere. I’ve got my nerve back. 
I ’ll go you!” 

Riggs reentered the room, carrying a tele¬ 
phone instrument equipped with a long cord 


/ 


36 VOICES 

at the end of which was a plug. He inserted 
the plug in a jack beneath the table in the 
center of the room and removed the receiver 
from the hook. 

“Miss Carewe will be here in a moment, sir. 
She just received this call for you from Mr. 
Pendleton Kirke. She says she ’s sure it is 
Mr. Pendleton Kirke, sir, and instructed me 
to transfer the call to this room.” 

Willmer waited until Riggs left the room. 
He then approached the table slowly, ex¬ 
tended his hand for the instrument, then drew 
it back again. His hand trembled. 

“It’s another of those voices, Boyden!” he 
whispered hoarsely. “I can’t—I can’t talk 
over that ’phone.” 

“Shucks!” rebuked Boyden scornfully. 
“The one hundred and second Psalm, second 
verse, sez, ‘When I call, answer me speedily.’ 
A minute ago you said you had your nerve 
back. Buck up; show me that you really 
have.” 

Willmer squared his shoulders and picked 
up the receiver. As he did so Boyden dived 
into the leather bag and abstracted a test-set 
consisting of a combination receiver and trans- 


THE TROUBLE-SHOOTER 37 

mitter. He clinched the teeth of his set 
through the cords of Willmer’s telephone and 
placed the test-set to his ear, standing at the 
millionaire’s side. 

“Y-yes,” began Willmer weakly. “Yes, 
this is Willmer, Kirke. . . . You—what! 
Oh!” He slammed the receiver back on the 
hook, seized a decanter, poured himself a 
stiff peg of brandy, and gulped it. Greatly 
agitated, he turned and beheld Boyden, the 
receiver again off the hook and the test-set 
still at his ear. 

“Never mind it, operator,” advised Boyden. 

Then he looked ruefully at Willmer. 

“The party’s gone,” he observed. “You 
have spoiled the hull thing.” 

“Who in hell told you to listen in?” thun¬ 
dered Willmer. 

“No one did, but Fenwick would have done 
it, and I work for him.” 

The telephone bell rang, and Boyden im¬ 
mediately lifted the receiver. 

“Mr. Willmer’s residence,” he announced. 
He listened a moment and then placed the 
receiver on the table. 

“Pendleton Kirke,” he informed Willmer. 


38 


VOICES 


“It ’s a different voice than before, and I 
reckon you’d better answer it.” 

Reluctantly, hesitatingly, Willmer picked 
up the receiver. 

“Kirke?” he queried. “Yes, yes—I ’ll be in. 
You’re at the Ibis Club? Very well; come 
right up. Good-by.” 

He sighed with relief as he replaced the 
receiver. 

“Kirke and King, my partners, are coming 
up to see me regarding a matter of impor¬ 
tance.” 

He helped himself to another drink and of¬ 
fered one to Boy den, which the little man de¬ 
clined. Then he fell to pacing the floor. 

“You Ve seen what this does to me, Boyden: 
takes the starch right out of me. For God’s 
sake, get busy and rid me of the voices !” 

“Be patient, and Mr. Fenwick will fix ev¬ 
erything up,” counseled Boyden. “By the 
way, sir, he wishes to be known as John Bell 
to your employees.” 

“Very well,” assented the millionaire 
gloomily. 

The rustle of silk caused him to halt and 
face the door. 


THE TROUBLE-SHOOTER 39 


“I was detained for a moment, Mr. Will¬ 
mer,” murmured a pleasing contralto voice. 
“I’m sorry.” 

Boyden bestowed an approving glance at 
the young lady. 

“It’s all right, my dear,” Willmer assured 
her. “Miss Carewe, let me present Mr. Seth 
Boyden, of the telephone company. He is 
trying to help us solve our little mystery, and 
requires the services of my very able secre¬ 
tary.” 

“Oh, I’m so glad!” she asserted, giving 
Boyden’s hand a hearty grasp. “I ’ll help all 
I can. It’s such a relief to have Mr. Willmer 
do anything at all about it. He’s been posi¬ 
tively supine!” 

“Take Mr. Boyden to the library, Lor¬ 
raine. He has some lists of telephone num¬ 
bers he’d like you to examine. I am expect¬ 
ing Kirke and King at any moment.” 

“Very well. Come along, Mr. Boyden. 
I’ve always wanted to talk to a telephone 
man. There are heaps of questions I want to 
ask.” 

“Yes’m. Did you know that the first 
book of Chronicles, ninth chapter, thirty- 


40 VOICES 

third verse, describes telephone men purty 
well?” 

“No, I didn’t. How interesting! What 
does it say?” 

“It says, ‘They were employed in that work 
day and night.’ ” 


CHAPTER III 

THE TRIUMVIRATE 

S HORTLY after Seth Boyden and Lor¬ 
raine Carewe left Willmer’s den Riggs 
ushered Pendleton Kirke and Otis King into 
the room. King was immediately struck by 
the presence of the telephone instrument on 
the center-table. Advancing to it, he placed 
his hand on the transmitter cup, and looked 
at Willmer inquiringly. He was a likable- 
looking chap of about thirty, tall, slender, and 
blond, with regular features of no unusual 
strength. His evening-clothes were essentially 
a part of him, and he was carelessly, uncon¬ 
sciously graceful. King’s attitude arrested 
Willmer’s attention. 

“Leave the damn thing alone and sit down,” 
he grunted. 

“We ’re here to see you about that damn 
thing,” observed Kirke. 

He was a year or two younger than Will¬ 
mer, short, squat, and decidedly bald. The 

41 


42 


VOICES 


baldness was somewhat accentuated by his ex¬ 
tremely heavy eyebrows, which lent his coun¬ 
tenance a somewhat shaggy, ferocious appear¬ 
ance. Kirke invariably attempted to live up 
to this appearance, and such measure of suc¬ 
cess as he attained in this respect was due to 
his deep, rasping voice. 

“What’s the row?” quizzed Willmer when 
the two were seated. 

“The devil’s to pay; that’s what! A 
pretty mess you made of it, cutting out your 
telephone service. The papers have gotten 
hold of it. Seen them?” 

“Yes,” assented Willmer wearily. “I sup¬ 
pose I’ve made myself the laughing-stock of 
New York.” 

“Worse than that,” retorted Kirke. “Many 
people are laughing at you, no doubt, but 
more are feeling sorry for you.” 

“You mean—” 

“I mean that they are thinking you ’re— 
insane!” He slapped his knees and glared at 
his associate. “No need of mincing matters; 
you might as well know the truth. The Fi¬ 
delity Trust people advised King this after¬ 
noon to go elsewhere for that loan of thirty 
million dollars. They told him they’d rather 



THE TRIUMVIRATE 


43 


not take chances while you are in your present 
condition. I just left the Londoners we ’ve 
been dickering with, and they want to call off 
all negotiations. The U. V. O. people ar¬ 
ranged this afternoon to have the Gates crowd 
underwrite their new financing. D ’ye see 
what you’ve done?” 

The senior member of Willmer, Kirke & 
King slumped in his chair, his right hand to 
his head and over his eyes. He was care¬ 
worn and silent. 

“Well, what are you going to do?” de¬ 
manded Kirke impatiently. 

Warren Willmer’s hand dropped to his 
side. 

“What is it you want me to do?” he queried 
brokenly. 

“Restore your telephone service first,” 
barked Kirke. 

“I’ve had that done.” 

“Next, issue some kind of explanation to 
the newspapers.” 

“I ’ll do that to-morrow. What else?” 

“Answer your telephone when people call 
you.” 

Willmer sat up in his chair. “I won’t,” he 
announced with an air of finality. “Rumored 


44 


VOICES 


insanity is bad enough, but I’m not going to 
have the rumor become a fact.” 

Kirke and King exchanged significant 
glances. 

“Look here, old chap,” protested King. 
“Our experience has been that whenever you 
refuse to answer your telephone the bloomin’ 
voices come after us. We’ve been hounded 
by the beastly things all day. It is n’t fair— 
it is n’t. You’ve simply got to bear your 
share of the burden.” 

“Been bothered to-day, have you?” asked 
Willmer sympathetically. 

“Nine times,” advised King. 

“About a dozen times for me,” growled 
Kirke. 

“What sort of voices?” demanded the sen¬ 
ior partner. 

“All sorts, as usual,” responded Kirke. 
“They differed. They were old and young, 
educated and illiterate, refined and ill-man¬ 
nered, of all nationalities and of both sexes. 
They followed me from the office to the club, 
back to the office, and thence to the hotel. I 
tried to keep them on the wire, to engage them 
in conversation, but couldn’t get away with 


THE TRIUMVIRATE 45 

it. oust as soon as they delivered the usual 
stereotyped remarks they hung up. No 
threats or demands were made.” 

“H-m. Wish I had your phlegmatic dis¬ 
position,” yearned Willmer. “I’d answer 
my telephone, too.” 

“Rot!” exclaimed Kirke. “I’m not phleg¬ 
matic. If any member of this trio has apo¬ 
plectic tendencies, I’m the one. The only 
difference is that I’ve got nerve, and you 
have n’t.” 

Willmer chuckled. 

“Who had nerve in the old days?” he re¬ 
minded. “Who used to be afraid, and beg me 
to go slow when I suggested a big proposi¬ 
tion? Who made the triumvirate the big 
financial power it is to-day? Don’t you talk 
to me about nerve! It is n’t a question of 
nerve at all; it’s a question of imagination. 
Look at young Otis here. He is n’t disturbed 
at all. Why? Because he has no imagina¬ 
tion to speak of. Tell us what you do, Otis, 
when the voices call.” 

The young man stretched languidly and 
smiled. 

“I’ve adopted a sort of formula,” he ex- 


46 VOICES 

plained rapidly. “As soon as I Ve deter¬ 
mined it’s one of these secret society calls I 
tell the fellow on the other end to go to 
Hades.” 

He grinned reminiscently. 

“It’s a bit awkward at times. To-day, for 
instance, I consigned to the warm regions the 
rector of St. Paul’s when he called me about 
the meeting of the church trustees. He was 
quite taken aback, I assure you. 

“The beastly voices don’t bother me much, 
you know. As a matter of fact, I rather enjoy 
th^se shivery, mysterious visitations. Of 
course, I’d like to know why they always say 
the same thing, and what it means. I’ve more 
than half an idea that you two chaps know 
but won’t say. How about it?” 

“Nothing of the kind,” blustered Kirke in¬ 
dignantly. 

“I should say not,” denied Willmer. 

“That being the case,” announced King 
carelessly, “I’m going to put the whole affair 
in Inspector Corson’s hands to-morrow.” 

“For heaven’s sake, don’t!” implored Will¬ 
mer, jumping to his feet and again pacing the 
floor. “Don’t have any more publicity about 
this affair than is necessary.” 


THE TRIUMVIRATE 


47 


“It seems to me that you are the champion 
space-grabber, so far as publicity is con¬ 
cerned,” reminded King. 

“Be guided by us in this, my boy,” coun¬ 
seled Kirke. “Your father would do just as 
we are doing.” 

“Of course, I ’m only a member o»f the 
triumvirate by virtue of inheritance,” began 
the young man. “I’m not so sure, though, 
that father would have acted as you are do¬ 
ing. It was his desire that I take his place 
after his death and learn the methods of his 
two associates. 

“Father wasn’t a fool, nor a knave, nor a 
coward, thank God. I’ve often heard him 
use the phrase ‘pitiless publicity.’ That, it 
seems to me, is the medicine that will cure our 
ills. 

“This little two-by-four melodrama isn’t 
worrying me. To me the significant thing is 
that two able-bodied men are afraid of it, and 
as a result the firm of Willmer, Kirke & King 
is losing prestige, power, and profits. I 
don’t want to see the name and business that 
father helped to build up swept away. If 
you ’re afraid of the police, give the case to a 
private detective agency.” 


48 VOICES 

Kirke was about to speak, but Willmer in¬ 
terrupted him. 

“Wait, Pendleton,” he requested. “Otis, 
you are still learning the details of our busi¬ 
ness. You have progressed rapidly, and in 
time will assuredly take your father’s place in 
a fitting manner. Kirke and I are as zealous 
as you of the reputation of our firm. We ’re 
not going to gamble it away on a whim or be¬ 
cause of frazzled nerves. 

“You are young, however, and inexpe¬ 
rienced. Our business is a peculiar one, inter¬ 
national in its scope, and you have not yet 
been initiated into all of its ramifications. 
Even a little two-by-four melodrama may 
have startling significance. 

“I will grant that I made a serious mistake 
in cutting out my telephone service and re¬ 
fusing to answer my office ’phone. That has 
been corrected, however, and will be a nine 
days’ wonder. The newspapers will soon be 
referring to it as another of my eccentrici¬ 
ties—one of the foibles of wealth. 

“But I have n’t entirely overlooked the 
matters to which you have called atten¬ 
tion. For one thing, I’ve engaged a detec¬ 
tive.” 


THE TRIUMVIRATE 


49 


“What?” shouted Kirke excitedly. Then 
he asked, more calmly, “Who?” 

“His name,” advised Willmer, pausing for 
effect, “is Charlie Fenwick.” 

“Never heard of him,” murmured Kirke. 

“I have,” said King, his face brightening. 
“He’s that youngster at Springfield—that 
telephone man. The police call him the 
phonic criminologist. I say, Willmer, that 
was clever of you—getting Fenwick, I mean. 
His specialty is the use of the telephone in de¬ 
tecting criminals. A case like this should put 
him on his mettle. I ’ll wager that in a couple 
of weeks our mystery will be solved.” 

“Mr. Fenwick’s assistant, Seth Boyden, is 
in the library now with Lorraine. He tells 
me that Fenwick contemplates spending 
forty-eight hours on the case. Boyden is quite 
a character, too. He’s an old fellow, appears 
to be well educated and well read, and is for 
ever quoting verses from the Bible, which he 
claims refers specifically to the telephone. 

“From what I learn from Reeves, of the 
telephone company, Boyden is a sort of out¬ 
side assistant to Fenwick; a trouble-shooter, 
they call him. He has been offered advance¬ 
ment by the company on a number of occa- 


50 


VOICES 


sions, but refuses it because he fairly worships 
his young superior. He knows Fenwick’s 
methods and is here to relieve him of the de¬ 
tail work.” 

“Has he accomplished anything?” asked 
Kirke. 

“‘He has impressed me as being thorough, 
logical, and energetic. As for results, it’s a 
bit early to expect them. If Fenwick is bet¬ 
ter than Boyden, I should say that the chances 
of success are good. The best thing about 
this arrangement is that it does not cost us 
a penny. Reeves is supplying Fenwick free 
of charge.” 

“You ’ll never change, sir,” observed Otis 
King dryly. “Some day I’m going to teach 
you how to part with a dollar without a stab¬ 
bing pain where your heart is supposed to be. 
The secret is out; Fenwick is on the case be¬ 
cause you don’t have to pay him. I suppose 
you bulldozed the telephone people into that 
arrangement?” 

“It was entirely their suggestion,” advised 
Willmer aggrievedly. 

“It was a mighty good one, at any rate,” 
conceded King. “I’m going to run along 
now to see Lor—Miss Care we. Then I’m off 


THE TRIUMVIRATE 51 

for Forest Hills. Oh, by the way, I forgot 
to mention that I’m off to-morrow for a bit 
of gunning. Don’t know how long I ’ll be 
away. Nothing important in the works, so it 
does n’t matter. Besides,” with a smile, “I 
realize that I’m not indispensable to Willmer, 
Kirke & King. Good night.” 

“Just a moment, Otis,” requested Willmer. 
“Fenwick may want to see you to-morrow. 
Where are you going on this hunting trip? 

“I really don’t care to say,” returned the 
young man nonchalantly. 

“Look here, Otis,” protested Kirke, “I 
don’t think you ’re playing fair. Warren re¬ 
fuses to answer his telephone, and now you ’re 
going away. That means that those infernal 
voices are going to concentrate on me.” 

“Precisely my idea,” declared King. “As 
I said before, I think you two know more than 
you care to say. I leave the voices to you, to 
Mr. Warren Willmer, and to Charlie Fen¬ 
wick. Good night.” 

He turned on his heel and left the room. 

“Was it wise, Warren?” queried Kirke, as 
soon as King disappeared. “Was it wise to 

call in this fellow Fenwick?” 

“I had to do something, Pen,” defended 


52 


VOICES 


Willmer. “I couldn’t stand that thing any 
longer. Reeves assures me that Fenwick is 
discretion itself—that there will be no public¬ 
ity. My understanding with him is that 
Fenwick undertakes the job of silencing the 
voices without asking for any further facts 
than those I have placed at his disposal. I 
have n’t even told what the voices say, and I 
have no intention of advising him of what we 
know or suspect.” 

“He can’t work intelligently without know¬ 
ing those things,” objected Kirke. “Sooner 
or later he ? 11 learn them himself.” 

“We ’ll have to take that chance,” argued 
the other. “If he’s the wizard they claim he 
is, he may really do something for us without 
inquiring too closely into motives. Have you 
any new ideas as to who is behind the scheme?” 

“None,” admitted Kirke. “I ’ve lain awake 
nights trying to think of some one who might 
direct such a gang, and who might have ob¬ 
tained the—the information. My memory is 
good, and I can’t for the life of me recall any 
one who might know . The thing is so mys¬ 
terious that I sometimes think it would be best 
to give in, to do whatever they require, and 
bring the farce to an end?” 



THE TRIUMVIRATE 


53 


“Nonsense,” scoffed Willmer indignantly. 
“A gigantic sum is involved, for one thing, 
and I won’t be a victim of blackmail, for an¬ 
other. I ’ll die first!” 

“Perhaps you will,” responded Kirke in a 
manner so significant that Willmer actually 
shivered. “It’s not principle or physical 
courage that supports you; it’s your love of 
money. Otis King has that feature of it sized 
up pretty shrewdly.” 

“Do you think he suspects anything?” 

“Of course he does, but he’s absolutely puz¬ 
zled. I’m rather glad he’s going away. A 
good detective could pump him dry in five 
minutes. Perhaps Fenwick will have the 
thing cleared up before he returns.” 

“I hope so,” murmured Willmer sincerely. 

“It must be,” declared his associate posi¬ 
tively. “The people at the office know that 
something is wrong, and some ugly rumors are 
rife among them, despite our efforts to main¬ 
tain absolute secrecy.” 

“If young King would only do as we ex¬ 
pect, it would take care of the other phase of 
the matter and probably relieve the entire 
situation,” hazarded Willmer. 

“No use figuring on that,” frowned Kirke, 


54 


VOICES 


“I’d just as soon make the necessary settle¬ 
ment immediately if it would not be a sort 
of tacit admission of wrong-doing. I’m per¬ 
fectly willing to assume a share of the respon¬ 
sibility, but as a matter of fact it should be 
yours alone.” 

Willmer chose to ignore the statement and 
made no denial. 

“The voices are not those of honest peo¬ 
ple,” continued the other. “They are the 
voices of crooks, of blackmailers. They are 
not interested in having us do the right thing, 
but if we do the right thing we will be fool¬ 
ing them. What do you think?” 

“I ’ll not consider the proposition for a min¬ 
ute,” returned Willmer. 

“Aren’t you afraid not to?” 

The financier nodded affirmatively, and then 
smiled vacuously before placing his hand in 
his hip-pocket. He withdrew an automatic 
revolver. 

“I am afraid,” he announced—“afraid of 
physical violence. That’s why I bought this. 
Do you carry one? 

Kirke appeared to be disturbed as his eyes 
dwelled on the revolver. 

“You do take things seriously, don’t you?” 


THE TRIUMVIRATE 


55 


he muttered. “No, I don’t go about armed. 
I have an old revolver at home, but it is n’t 
even loaded. Perhaps I’d better fix it up.” 

“I think you’d better,” encouraged Will- 
mer. He pulled open a drawer in the table 
and extracted a box of cartridges. “Take 
these,” he offered. “I’ve got more. I dare 
say you haven’t any for that old gun of 
yours.” 

Kirke accepted them gingerly and placed 
the box in his coat-pocket. 

“Perhaps they ’ll fit,” he murmured, half 
ashamed. “I don’t even recall the caliber of 
my weapon.” 

“If they don’t, take my advice and buy an 
automatic like this, the first thing in the morn¬ 
ing.” 

His partner nodded and consulted his 
watch. 

“It’s ten o’clock,” he announced. “I must 
be getting back to Newton. I ’ll see you and 
Charlie Fenwick at the office to-morrow.” 

“When you see Charlie Fenwick his name 
will be John Bell,” advised Willmer. “Good 
night, Pendleton.” 


CHAPTER IV 


FOUR MINUTES OF DARKNESS 

A S Pendleton Kirke entered his luxurious 
home in Newton an obsequious male 
servant hastened to his side to assist him in re¬ 
moving his coat. “A gentleman by the name 
of Mr. John Bell has been waiting for some 
time,” advised the servant. “I told him I had 
no idea when you might return, but he stated 
that his business was important and he insisted 
upon waiting.” 

“Where is he, Peters?” demanded Kirke.” 
“In the blue room, sir.” 

“Very well. Tell him I ’ll see him in a 
moment. Mr. King drove me in from town 
and is waiting outside for some papers.” 
“Yes, sir.” 

Kirke strode toward a door at the right 
of the reception-hall. With his hand on the 
knob he paused. 

“Oh—Peters?” 


56 


MINUTES OF DARKNESS 57 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Do you happen to know what has become 
of that old revolver of mine?” 

The man’s eyebrows arched inquiringly, but 
only for a second. 

“Yes, sir; it’s in an old trunk in the 
storage-room, sir.” 

“Clean it and let me have it. First thing 
in the morning will do.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Peters bowed scarcely perceptibly and si¬ 
lently entered the room at the left of the re¬ 
ception-hall as Kirke entered the one to the 
right. 

A clean-cut young man with hair of a dis¬ 
tinctly reddish tint and freckles of rather un¬ 
due prominence was seated in a fireside chair, 
smoking and perusing a magazine. 

“Mr. Kirke will see you in a moment, Mr. 
Bell. His partner is outside in his car, wait¬ 
ing for some papers which Mr. Kirke is fetch¬ 
ing from his study across the hall.” 

“Which partner—Willmer or King?” in¬ 
quired the young man, laying aside his maga¬ 
zine. 

“Mr. King, sir.” 

“That’s a bit of luck. I wonder if Mr. 


58 


VOICES 


Kirke would object if I asked Mr. King in 
for a moment? It’s a matter of impor¬ 
tance.” 

“I’m sure he would not, sir. I ’ll tell Mr. 
King.” 

Peters withdrew, and in a few moments the 
junior member of the firm entered briskly. 
His tall, slender form was enveloped in a long 
motoring-coat, and he wore a cap and carried 
a pair of gantlets. 

“My word! Fenwick!” he shouted, ex¬ 
tending a hand with boyish enthusiasm. 

Fenwick bit his lip with vexation and di¬ 
rected a significant glance towards Peters, 
who was closing the front door. 

The servant, his countenance immobile and 
his voice soft, entered the room. 

“If you please, gentlemen,” he said, “I am 
going to the top of the house to the storage- 
room to look for something that Mr. Kirke 
requires in the morning. Should you need 
me, please ring the bell.” He wheeled about 
and ascended the stairs. 

“It can’t be helped, Mr. King,” smiled 
Fenwick, amused at the young millionaire’s 
crestfallen appearance. “I did wish to main- 


MINUTES OF DARKNESS 59 

tain a strict incognito, except to you and your 
partners, but no doubt Mr. Kirke’s man is 
trustworthy.” 

“I’m for ever putting my foot in it,” apolo¬ 
gized King. “Kirke took the trouble to ex¬ 
plain on the way down in the car that you 
were to be known as John Bell. We under¬ 
stood that you wouldn’t reach town until 
morning, however, and it was quite a surprise 
to see you in this room when I entered it. I 
recognized you instantly, despite the general 
wretchedness of newspaper pictures. Let’s 
be seated. What brought you here first?” 

“An appeal to reason,” advised Fenwick. 
“Soon after I reached New York I learned 
that Mr. Willmer was not the only one who 
had been subjected to annoyances over the 
telephone. I learned that you and Mr. Kirke 
were victims of the same game. I had al¬ 
ready learned that Willmer absolutely re¬ 
fused to divulge the nature of the anonymous 
messages he received over the telephone, and 
that he was stubborn and hard to convince. I 
felt that Mr. Kirke might be more reasonable, 
and if I failed in my mission here I was deter¬ 
mined to try you next.” 


60 


VOICES 


The young man hesitated for a moment and 
then spoke hurriedly in a very low voice. 

“Mr. Fenwick,” he began earnestly, “there’s 
more to this case than I know, but I’m pretty 
sure that my partners have information they 
do not care to give me. You will appreciate 
my position, I’m sure. Even under the most 
ordinary circumstances I have no weighty 
voice in their conferences. I’m young and 
lack my father’s vast experience and excel¬ 
lent judgment, and I feel no resentment at be¬ 
ing required to defer to their wishes. But I 
do object to being kept in the dark, and un¬ 
less Willmer or Kirke, or both of them, give 
you the information you require, I’m going 
to tell you all I know.” 

“Fair enough,” conceded Fenwick. “Would 
you object to telling me now just what the 
voices say or talk about?” 

“Rather!” retorted the young man sharply, 
flushing to the roots of his blond hair. “So 
many people take me for an utter fool,” he 
reproved. “I ’ll not tell you a thing until 
Kirke has had an opportunity to talk.” 

“I beg your pardon, Mr. King. You ’re 
perfectly right, and I shouldn’t have tried to 
hurry you.” 


MINUTES OF DARKNESS 61 

“Don’t mention it, old chap. Hullo! 
what’s that?” 

King’s exclamation was due to the fact that 
every light within their radius of vision was 
suddenly turned off, and a report very much 
like that of a revolver rang out simulta¬ 
neously. 

The two young men were on their feet in¬ 
stantly, and King followed Fenwick as the 
latter groped his way to the foot of the stairs 
in the reception-hall. The lights on the up¬ 
per floors were apparently still burning. 

“Peters! Peters!” shouted King, running 
half-way up the stairs. There was no imme¬ 
diate response, and he raised his voice. “I 
say—Peters!” 

“Coming, sir,” shouted the man from the 
third floor. 

“Are the lights on up there?” demanded 
Fenwick. 

“Yes, sir,” assured Peters, now at the head 
of the staircase where it turned on the second 
floor. 

“They ’re off down here,” advised Fen¬ 
wick. “Where is your switch-box?” 

“This way, sir,” announced the servant, pro¬ 
ducing a pocket flash-light of limited radiance. 


62 


VOICES 


He led Fenwick to the extreme rear of the 
house, threw open a panel, and flashed his 
light on the switches and fuses. 

“Fuse blown,” observed Fenwick. He 
picked up a spare from the bottom of the 
cabinet and substituted it for the burnt one. 
Instantly the lights on the lower floor were 
restored. 

“My word! That was queer, wasn’t it?” 
commented King. 

“Worse than queer!” responded Fenwick 
anxiously. “Do you realize that in these 
four minutes of darkness we have n’t heard a 
word from Mr. Kirke? See to the front door, 
Peters. I’m going into Kirke’s study.” 

The three hurried to the front of the house, 
and Peters examined the door. 

“Still locked and bolted, sir, just as I fixed 
it a while ago. Mr. Kirke’s been very partic¬ 
ular about that lately.” 

Fenwick partly opened the study door and, 
finding the room illuminated, thrust his head 
in. “My God!” he exclaimed. “We ’re too 
late!” 

He pushed the door entirely open and en¬ 
tered the room, leaving King and Peters 
standing horror-stricken on the threshold. 


MINUTES OF DARKNESS 63 


The body of Pendleton Kirke lay sprawled on 
the floor. Fenwick dropped on his knees be¬ 
side it and, lifting it slightly, made a hurried 
examination. 

“Dead!” he murmured. “Shot through the 
heart!” 

“Suicide!” cried Peters. “Look on the 
desk, and the floor!” 

They followed his gesture, indicating a 
spilled box of cartridges, some on the mahog¬ 
any desk, and some on the floor. 

“What have you in your hand, there, 
Peters?” demanded Fenwick sternly. 

Peters turned pale as he regarded the two 
objects helplessly. One was the small flash¬ 
light that had done duty a moment before. 
The other was a revolver of somewhat ancient 
design. 

“I—I just brought it down from the storage- 
room, sir. Mr. Kirke asked me to get it 
and clean it. He said he would want it the 
first thing in the morning. Look at it, sir— 
please do! It’s only just been cleaned!” 

“I ’ll take it, Peters,” observed Fenwick, 
slipping the weapon into his coat-pocket. He 
looked about the room. It was exceedingly 
gmall, and unpretentious enough, considering 


64 


VOICES 


the fact that one of the country’s greatest capi¬ 
talists dignified it by the name of “study.” 

The walls separating the room from the re¬ 
ception-hall and the one joining it at the left 
were entirely taken up by bookcases contain¬ 
ing an expensive and diversified library. To 
the right were an olive-green metal file and 
two huge old-fashioned iron safes. The 
fourth wall at the side of the house contained 
two windows. Between these two windows 
and close to the wall was Kirke’s huge ma¬ 
hogany glass-topped desk, and before the desk 
stood a revolving chair of mahogany. Kirke 
had evidently pitched forward from this chair 
and had fallen face downward close to the 
desk. 

“Don’t touch a thing!” commanded Fen¬ 
wick. “Peters, call up Mr. Kirke’s physician. 
Tell him to come here at once. Then tele¬ 
phone Corson of New York City. If he’s 
not at headquarters find out where he is. Tell 
him I ’d like him to come out here without de¬ 
lay." 

“Yes, sir,” agreed Peters, who had appar¬ 
ently recovered his composure. “Who shall 
I say wants him, sir—Mr. Bell? Or shall I 
say Mr. Fenwick?” 


MINUTES OF DARKNESS 65 


The acerbity of the man’s tone did not es¬ 
cape Fenwick, but Peters met the young 
criminologist’s gaze steadily enough and with¬ 
out flinching. 

“Tell him you are telephoning for Charlie 
Fenwick,” he directed. “And don’t be im¬ 
pertinent; you can’t afford to!” 

“This is terrible, Mr. Fenwick,” murmured 
King, his lips blanched and trembling. “I’ve 
never seen anything like this before.” 

The young man was visibly affected, and 
Fenwick led him to a chair in the hall. 

“We ’ll wait for Peters,” he observed. “I 
prefer to have some one in the room when I 
proceed with my investigation.” 

“Won’t Peters get away?” asked King. 

Fenwick shrugged his shoulders. 

“Perhaps. It’s hard to say. It does n’t 
make any difference, anyway. Has Kirke any 
family?” 

“Yes; a wife and grown daughter. They 
are in France—Trouville, I believe. This 
will be a terrific shock to them.” 

“You’d better advise them by cable.” 

“Let Mr. Willmer do that,” suggested the 
young man. “He can cable our Paris agent 
in code before the Associated Press has the 


66 VOICES 

story on the wires. Willmer should be ad¬ 
vised at once, also.” 

“From what I have heard,” commented 
Fenwick, “Warren Willmer is in no condition 
to hear news of this character.” 

“You ’re right,” agreed King. “I don’t 
know what to suggest. 

Peters returned. 

“Dr. Rush is on the way, sir. Mr. Corson 
will start at once. Is there anything else, 
sir? 

“Yes, Peters. Mr. King will remain here 
for the present. I want you to come to Mr. 
Kirke’s study with me.” 

“Very well, sir.” 

The two men reentered the room. 

“Be careful not to step on any of those 
cartridges, Peters,” requested the young de¬ 
tective. “A little more light would help us. 
Surely Mr. Kirke did n’t work at that desk 
under this light.” 

He indicated the somewhat dim indirect 
lighting supplied by the electrolier depending 
from the ceiling in the center of the room. 

“No sir,” responded the servant. “He has 
an ordinary brass desk-light. It’s in the 


MINUTES OF DARKNESS 67 

basement. I cleaned it to-day. Shall I fetch 
it?” 

“If you will, Peters.” 

The man disappeared, and Fenwick im¬ 
mediately picked up the telephone on Kirke’s 
desk. 

“Riverside 11,980,” he directed. A full 
minute elapsed before he was answered. “Mr. 
Willmer’s residence? . . . Who is speaking, 
please? . . . Oh, Miss Carewe? Is Mr. Seth 
Boyden of the telephone company still 
there? . . . Please let me speak to him. . . . 
Seth? . . . Good! Now, don’t talk—just lis¬ 
ten. This is Fenwick. I’m in Newton— 
Pendleton Kirke’s residence. Kirke has been 
shot; he’s dead. Advise Mr. Willmer and 
Miss Carewe at once. 

“Tell them there is nothing they can do to¬ 
night. Otis King is here with me. Tell Mr. 
Willmer you consider it advisable to stay at 
his residence all night, in case anything hap¬ 
pens. We ’re not sure yet whether Kirke was 
killed or committed suicide. I ’ll be in to see 
you later. Good night.” 

Peters reentered the room with the desk- 
lamp. He deposited it on the desk and fit- 


68 


VOICES 


ted a plug m the wall-socket which was flush 
with the rear of the desk. 

“That’s better,” observed Fenwick, switch¬ 
ing on the light. “The first thing we want to 
do, Peters, is to count these cartridges scat¬ 
tered about the floor and on the desk. The 
pasteboard carton in which they were packed 
is apparently new. It is marked ‘50 car¬ 
tridges.’ Let’s see how many we can find, 
but don’t touch any of them.” 

Peters counted those on the desk while Fen¬ 
wick devoted his attention to the larger num¬ 
ber on the floor. 

“Thirty-two, Peters,” he announced. “How 
many do you count?” 

“Seventeen, sir.” 

“One missing, eh? I suspected as much. 
And they are thirty-eight caliber, Peters. So 
is the revolver you cleaned for Mr. Kirke, 
isn’t it?” 

“Yes, sir,” admitted the man nervously. 
“But I never saw these cartridges before, sir. 
On my word of honor, I did n’t.” 

“I have been aware of that fact for fifteen 
minutes, Peters.” 

“Thank you, sir. Shall we look about for 
the other gun?” 


MINUTES OF DARKNESS 69 

“No, Peters; we ’ll let Inspector Corson do 
that.” 

“You noticed, sir, that the window-catches 
are on?” 

“Yes, Peters. No one has gone out of the 
windows.” 

“And you knew, sir, that I was at the top 
of the house when this occurred?” 

“Yes, I did. If the case were entirely in 
my hands, Peters, I would undertake to reas¬ 
sure you. You have mentioned the most 
significant facts, and when Inspector Corson 
arrives I shall be glad to call them to his at¬ 
tention.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Fenwick,” murmured the 
man gratefully. 

“Are there any other servants, Peters?” 

“Yes, sir. Two maids. They have retired, 
and know nothing of what has occurred. The 
gardener and the chauffeur have quarters 
above the coach-house, sir. They are off to¬ 
night and have n’t come in yet.” 

Fenwick nodded. 

“Did you know, sir, about the telephone 
messages Mr. Kirke has been receiving? I 
thought likely you did. Well, sir, we ’ve re¬ 
ceived one every night at about eleven o’clock, 


70 VOICES 

and sometimes there have been others at mid¬ 
night, or very early in the morning.” 

Fenwick looked at his watch. 

“Two minutes of twelve. I suppose you 
mean to call my attention to the fact that no 
telephone calls have materialized this eve¬ 
ning.” 

“Precisely, sir. Isn’t it possible that the 
voices have accomplished their object?” 

“Perhaps, Peters. Thank you for the sug¬ 
gestion.” 

Fenwick moved slowly about the room, 
examining the furniture and various objects 
in an apparently casual manner. He halted 
before the low bookcase against the wall, 
directly opposite Kirke’s desk. On top of 
the bookcase were three letter-files of the box 
variety. He pointed to them. 

“What are these, Peters?” he asked. 

“Old files, sir, to be thrown out. Mr. 
Kirke transferred the papers they contained 
to that new metal file you see in the corner. 
I neglected to dispose of them.” 

“Don’t you really want them? I could use 
one of them to advantage for some records of 
mine.” 


MINUTES OF DARKNESS 71 

“You ’re entirely welcome to it, sir. I ’ll 
fetch you some wrapping-paper.” 

As Peters left the room Fenwick picked up 
one of the files. His observant eyes had de¬ 
tected a somewhat jagged hole in it. Hastily 
opening the file, he withdrew a small object 
and placed it in his vest-pocket. 

Peters returned and proceeded to wrap and 
tie the letter-file for Fenwick. 

“I’m going back to town with Mr. King, 
Peters. Would you mind putting the parcel 
in his car?” 

“Not at all, sir.” 

“By the way, Peters, what kind of an em¬ 
ployer was Kirke? Easy man to get along 
with?” 

The servant’s eyes flashed fire and his lips 
tightened. 

“No, sir, he was not. As a matter of fact, 
sir, we had something of a quarrel this morn¬ 
ing, and I gave him a month’s notice 1” 


CHAPTER V 


CORSON MAKES AN ARREST 

W HEN Inspector Corson arrived he 
found Fenwick in the blue room with 
Otis King, and was advised that Dr. Rush 
was in the study making an examination of 
the body. Fenwick hurriedly sketched the 
events immediately preceding the tragedy. 
As he completed his recital of the facts the 
physician entered the room. 

“Well?” inquired Corson. 

“Murder,” announced the physician posi¬ 
tively, his thin lips tightening. “From my 
very superficial examination I am willing to 
stake my professional reputation on it. The 
angle and location of the wound and the ab¬ 
sence of powder-marks indicate conclusively 
that Mr. Kirke could not have killed himself. 
The suicide theory is untenable, anyway, be¬ 
cause of the absence of a weapon. 

“Perhaps I can locate the weapon,” sug¬ 
gested Corson, arising. “I ’ll want to view 

72 


AN ARREST 


73 

the body and make a thorough examination 
of the room, and I may as well start. Will 
you join me, Charlie?” 

“I think not,” Fenwick declined. “Look 
things over, if you will, and then let me know 
what you think. I ’ll await you here.” 

Corson withdrew, and Dr. Rush, King, and 
Fenwick discussed the more obvious angles of 
the case during the half-hour he was absent. 
Upon his return he immediately inquired for 
Peters. Fenwick summoned him by ringing 
the bell. 

“Be seated, Peters,” Corson half ordered, 
half invited, when the servant put in an ap¬ 
pearance. “I want all of you to listen atten¬ 
tively and correct me if I misstate the facts. 
Mr. Kirke, I understand, went to his study 
as soon as he returned home. He closed the 
door after him. At Fenwick’s request, Pet¬ 
ers invited Mr. King into the house, and shut 
and bolted the front door. Fenwick and 
King sat in this room where they could easily 
detect any one entering or leaving the study 
or the house. Is that correct?” 

“Absolutely,” agreed Fenwick. 

“Peters went up to the third floor. Sud¬ 
denly the lights went out. Peters was 


VOICES 


74 

called. He came down the stairs and led the 
way to the switch-box where it was discovered 
that a fuse had burnt out. It was replaced, 
and the lights were restored. During the pe¬ 
riod of darkness no one heard anything re¬ 
sembling the opening or closing of a door. 

“If any one was in the room with Kirke he 
would have to leave by a window in the study, 
by the front door, or by the rear entrance. 
When you entered the study you discovered 
Kirke’s body. The study-windows were 
locked on the inside. The front door was 
locked and bolted. To escape by the rear 
entrance the assassin would have to pass King 
and Fenwick at the foot of the stairs. You 
are sure that no one passed, and you subse¬ 
quently found the rear door locked from the 
inside. ,, 

“Those are the facts,” agreed Fenwick. 

“I have made a thorough search of the 
room and have been unable to find a weapon. 
The cartridges scattered about the desk and 
floor are thirty-eight caliber. When Peters 
came down the stairs in answer to shouts from 
Fenwick and King, he had this revolver in his 
hand.” 


AN ARREST 


75 

Corson produced the ancient weapon, and 
held it out toward Peters. 

Peters moistened his lips, and then spoke 
hesitatingly. 

“Mr. Kirke asked for it, sir. Wanted it 
cleaned. Said that he would like it the first 
thing in the morning. I had just finished 
cleaning it when these gentlemen called me.” 

Corson nodded. 

“I assume, then, Peters, that Kirke had no 
occasion to use the weapon for some time pre¬ 
vious to this evening?” 

“Never, sir. I was quite astonished when 
he asked for it.” 

“Mr. Fenwick tells me, Peters, that you 
admitted having an altercation with Kirke this 
morning.” 

“Yes, sir. He accused me of waste and ex¬ 
travagance in the administration of his house¬ 
hold, and was downright insulting and unu¬ 
sually abusive in his language. I gave him 
a month’s notice.” 

“This revolver is thirty-eight caliber, 
Peters.” 

The man’s face grew pale. 

“Yes, sir,” he agreed. 


76 


VOICES 


There was a tense moment of silence, which 
was finally relieved by Fenwick, who first 
smiled and then chuckled. Corson glanced at 
him sharply. 

“What’s the matter?” he demanded. 

“Everything,” grinned Charlie. “The gun 
had just been cleaned, and is still clean. Be¬ 
sides, Peters was at the top of the house when 
the tragedy occurred. I’m sorry to spoil 
your little show, chief, but Peters is not your 
man.” 

The inspector returned Charlie’s grin with 
every evidence of good nature. “I did wish 
to spare your feelings,” he announced, “but 
now I will have to be brutally frank. The 
circumstances of this murder indicate conclu¬ 
sively that the perpetrator is still within the 
house. If Peters is not responsible, I have 
the alternative of recommending to the local 
police that Messrs. Fenwick and King be 
taken into custody.” 

He leaned back in his chair and surveyed 
the pair quizzically. 

“I say,” stuttered King excitedly, “he’s 
right, you know! We’re natural suspects. 
There might be collusion between—” 

“S-sh!” interrupted Fenwick, wearing a 


AN ARREST 


77 

rueful expression. “Thumbs down for Pe¬ 
ters!” He turned to the servant apologet¬ 
ically. “Sorry, old man, but we ’ve got to 
throw you overboard to save the ship. Your 
local police will have to make an arrest, and it 
might as well be you. I have work to do, and 
I can be of much greater assistance to you if 
I’m free to come and go. What say, in¬ 
spector? I’m anxious to get to Willmer’s 
residence as soon as possible. May I leave 
now?” 

“Assuredly, Charlie. Are you going to de¬ 
vote all your attention to the murder and for¬ 
get all about the voices?” 

“No, indeed,” retorted Charlie. “I’m go¬ 
ing to forget all about the murder, and I’m 
going to devote all my time to the voices.” 

Corson regarded him with amazement. 

“Do you really mean that?” he inquired. 

“Absolutely. And now I must be off. 
Mr. King, do you feel equal to the task of 
driving me back to town?” 

“I think so,” assented King. “I’m rather 
anxious to see how the news affects Willmer, 
anyway.” 

“Then, let’s be off. I’m rather anxious to 
see Miss Lorraine Carewe. Her voice has 


78 


VOICES 


given me a mental picture of her, and the pros¬ 
pect of a meeting pleases. Oh, by the way, 
chief, will you do me a favor ?” 

“You know I will.” 

Fenwick’s eyes twinkled. 

“Call me up, will you, just as soon as you 
learn what made the lights go out?” 

He laughed tantalizingly and disappeared 
with the not unwilling King, who seemed to 
feel that he had been snatched from 
the clutches of the law. A moment later 
the pair were bound for New York in the 
financier’s high-powered car. 


CHAPTER VI 


THEORIES AND FACTS 

T HE Willmer mansion was completely il¬ 
luminated when King and Fenwick 
pulled up in front of it at three o’clock in the 
morning. Its general appearance was festive 
enough from without, but a vague tenseness 
was evident within from the moment the 
usually imperturbable Riggs admitted them. 

“Mr. Willmer is in his den, sir,” he whis¬ 
pered. “He’s alone. That Boyden man and 
Miss Lorraine are in the library.” 

“The library, please,” directed Fenwick. 
Riggs willingly led the way. 

Lorraine Carewe advanced with out¬ 
stretched hand, ignoring the formality of an 
introduction. Her eyes were tear-stained. 

“You’re Mr. Bell, I know. I’m so glad 
you’ve come. This night has been a seething 
torment for all of us. Tell us, did Mr. Kirke 
take his own life?” 

Fenwick hesitated for a moment before re- 

79 


80 


VOICES 


plying, struck by the girl’s unusual exotic 
beauty. He searched his mind fleetingly for 
words accurately to describe her type, and 
nodded approvingly when he recalled them. 

“Miss Carewe,” he observed, “before I an¬ 
swer your question, please remember to ask 
me what an educated Arab once told me when 
I installed a telephone in his home. At some 
more auspicious time, of course. And now 
for your question. I can positively assure 
you that Mr. Kirke did not take his own life, 
and I may also report that Inspector Corson, 
of New York, has evidence which will result 
in the arrest of Peters, Mr. Kirke’s butler, on 
a charge of murder.” 

“Thank God!” murmured the girl as she 
dropped into a chair. She made an obvious 
effort to regain her composure, and even 
smiled when next she spoke. “I’m so glad 
it was n’t the other,” she explained hastily. 
“I was afraid of that, because of Mr. Will- 
mer. He’s absolutely distraught, and I 

« 

feared another tragedy, induced perhaps by 
autosuggestion. Otis, pardon me; I’m not 
quite myself, or I should n’t have ignored you. 
You must be dreadfully fagged, all of you. 


THEORIES AND FACTS 81 

Go to Mr. Willmer at once. I ’ll have some 
coffee sent up to the den.” 

The girl left the room, and Seth immedi¬ 
ately approached Fenwick. 

“Willmer’s settin’ in his den with a loaded 
revolver,” he whispered. “The door is locked 
on the inside, but I saw him through the key¬ 
hole. He won’t let any one in.” 

“Let’s try it, at any rate,” decided Fen¬ 
wick ; and Boy den guided them to the door of 
the den. 

Otis King knocked upon the door. 

“Go away,” directed a testy voice from 
within. 

“It’s King,” announced the junior member 
of the triumvirate. 

“Wait until morning, Otis,” pleaded Will¬ 
mer nervously. “I don’t want to see any one 
until daybreak.” 

“Mr. Bell and Mr. Boyden are with me,” 
advised King sharply. “Don’t be ridiculous. 
Open the door.” 

“Very well,” quavered Willmer. 

A short pause, and the key rattled uncer¬ 
tainly in the lock. The door was opened re¬ 
luctantly, revealing the financier in a dress- 


82 


VOICES 


ing-gown. His face was ashen gray, and he 
appeared to have aged considerably during the 
period of five hours. 

“Come in—come in!” he exclaimed queru¬ 
lously. As soon as they entered he snapped 
on the lock. “Sit down, damn it!” he shouted, 
as the three men stood, ill at ease. 

They obeyed him. 

“How about Pendleton?” he inquired. 
“Dead, eh? No chance of a mistake? H-m. 
Who did it?” 

Fenwick related the startling events of the 
evening. 

“About those cartridges,” Willmer volun¬ 
teered, “I gave ’em to Kirke. Here’s more 
like ’em.” He opened the table drawer and 
tossed a box to Fenwick. “Pen said he had 
a gun but did n’t know if these would fit. 
Well, looks as if some one had a gun they 
did fit!” 

A cackling laugh, forced and unnatural, 
followed, but was broken off suddenly. 
“Don’t you take any stock in that yarn about 
Peters doing it!” he cautioned, a finger 
pointed directly at Fenwick. “It wasn’t Pe¬ 
ters ; it was the voices. They ’ll get me next 
-—me, or young Otis, here. Seems to me 


THEORIES AND FACTS 83 


they ’ll get Otis first. Yes, that’s it; they ’ll 
save the biggest and worst until last!” 

“Encouraging!” murmured King, who had 
been considerably reassured by Fenwick dur¬ 
ing the ride back to town. 

“What makes you so sure of impending dis¬ 
aster?” asked Fenwick. 

Willmer sulked and ignored the question. 

“The Good Book says,” quoted Boyden, 
“ ‘Except ye utter words easy to be under¬ 
stood, how shall it be known what is spoken? 
For ye shall speak into the air.’ ” 

Willmer glared at Boyden. 

“There’s no need for all this damned psalm¬ 
singing!” he exclaimed. “You two telephone 
men are supposed to know your business, and 
I know mine. I don’t know who the voices are 
any more than you do. I have a theory, but 
that’s all. I’m not telling it. Get busy and 
establish your own theory. That was my 
agreement with Mr. Reeves. I ’ll tell you 
what I please, and that’s all.” 

“That strikes me as being a bit unfair,” put 
in King. “I don’t know much, but I’m going 
to tell Bell what I do know, whether you like 
it or not.” 

The young man’s face was flushed, and he 


84 VOICES 

appeared to resent the treatment accorded 
F enwick. 

Willmer hastily endeavored to placate him. 

“Don’t be rash, Otis,” he counseled. “I 
am not quitting, but I’m resigned to almost 
anything. I’d advise you to adopt my own 
point of view. On the other hand, there’s 
just a chance that our troubles are over. Per¬ 
haps Pendleton was involved in something of 
which we have no knowledge. Perhaps he was 
entirely responsible for the voices. 

“In that event we ’re hardly likely to be 
bothered again. Has it occurred to you that 
there have been no mysterious messages since 
Kirke’s death?” 

“You mean that you have received none,” 
corrected King. 

“Peters called my attention to that 
point,” observed Fenwick. “He said that it 
was quite the usual thing to receive calls from 
the voices between eleven p. m. and the early 
hours of the morning. There were no such 
calls to Mr. Kirke’s telephone to-night or this 
morning.” 

“What did I tell you?” exclaimed Willmer 
triumphantly. “Don’t be too anxious about 
telling the little you do know.” 


85 


THEORIES AND FACTS 

King walked to the table and picked up the 
telephone instrument. 

“Boulevard 5381,” he directed. He then 
turned to the others. “I ’m going to rouse 
my man and see if I ’ve been the object of 
their attentions. It’s just as well to make 
sure. Hello! Crater? . . . King speaking. 
Sorry to get you up, but it’s somewhat im¬ 
portant. Have we had any spooky telephone 
visitations to-night or this morning? . . . 
None? Good enough. . . . Yes, that ’s all, 
thank you. ... No, don’t wait up for me. 
Good night.” 

He smiled as he replaced the receiver. 

“Perhaps you ’re right, sir,” he conceded, 
turning to his partner. “This is the first time 
in three weeks that no calls have been made?” 

“Of course I’m right,” responded Willmer. 
“Our troubles are all over. But the cost— 
the terrible price! Poor Kirke!” 

The financier had shaken off the fear that 
had previously obsessed him, because, no 
doubt, of his association with the others. His 
brooding vigil in armed solitude had played 
havoc with his nerves, and he had been far 
from normal when he had admitted them to 
his room. His more human reference to the 


86 


VOICES 


fate of his partner signified to Fenwick that 
he had regained his self-control. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Willmer,” observed Fen¬ 
wick, “but it seems only fair to tell you that 
you are wrong. Mr. Kirke’s death had noth¬ 
ing to do with the voices. Whether or not 
they will resume their petty and vexatious 
operations I do not know, but I believe they 
will.” 

“What makes you say that?” demanded 
Willmer truculently. 

“My theory,” responded Fenwick suavely. 
“As you remarked five minutes ago, you have 
yours and have no intention of divulging it. 
You invited me to get one of my own. I 
have—together with some facts.” 

“H-m!” muttered Willmer, drumming on 
the table with his fingers. “Well, well, young 
man! Go on; let’s hear them. What are 
your theories and facts?” 

“They are my theories and facts, Mr. Will¬ 
mer,” reminded Fenwick with dignity. “For 
a short time they shall remain mine alone.” 

The telephone bell rang. It was rather ab¬ 
surd to note how it startled each of them. As 
it rang a second and third time they glanced 
at each other nervously, and Willmer picked 


THEORIES AND FACTS 87 

up the automatic he had placed on the table 
some time previously. King was about to lift 
the receiver, when a warning gesture from 
Fenwick caused him to abandon his pur¬ 
pose. 

Charlie turned to Boyden. “Is there a 
switchboard?” he asked hurriedly. 

“Yes; two trunks and eighteen stations. 
This is the only extension connected up with 
a trunk.” 

“Where is there another extension?” 

“Library. Shall I connect it with cen¬ 
tral?” 

“Please do. King, go to the ’phone in the 
library and ask the operator to tell you who is 
calling on this trunk. Know the numbers?” 

“River 11,980 and 11,981,” announced 
King, hurrying from the room. 

Boyden left the room with him to go to the 
switchboard on the lower floor. The ringing 
continued at intervals until Fenwick lifted 
the receiver. 

“Mr. Willmer’s residence,” he said. 

“Git Willmer on the wire, will yer?” re¬ 
quested a rough, displeasing voice. 

“Who wishes to speak with him?” Fenwick 
inquired. 


88 


VOICES 


“Me. Who do yer fink?” 

“Mr. Willmer has retired,” advised Fen¬ 
wick. “If you wish, I ’ll see that he gets any 
message you may wish to give me.” 

“Aw right. Now git dis straight. You 
tell Willmer that what happened to-night is 
jest a warnin’ to him. Tell him he’d better 
come across, or we ’ll tell de newspapers. 
You tell him he’s gotta do de right t’ing. 
D ’ye get me?” 

“I get you,” assured Fenwick positively. 
“Who shall I tell him left the message?” 

“He ’ll know,” responded the other. 

“How can he ‘com.e across’?” questioned 
Charlie. 

“When he ’s ready he kin tell us, an’ we ’ll let 
him know. G’-by.” 

A sudden click and the party was gone. 
Fenwick replaced the receiver, and then in¬ 
formed Willmer of the nature of the conver¬ 
sation. 

“About the same as usual,” admitted the 
latter grudgingly. “I have n’t the slightest 
idea of what the fellow means.” He actually 
seemed relieved, however, at the realization 
that Fenwick had obtained definite knowledge 
of the character of the mysterious conversa- 


THEORIES AND FACTS 89 

tions and had no apparent intention of press¬ 
ing him for further information. 

Boyden reentered the room, followed by 
King. 

“I listened at the switchboard,” advised 
Boyden. “Kin you tell us what that feller 
looked like?” 

Lorraine Carewe entered with a tray bear¬ 
ing a pot of coffee and the necessary acces¬ 
sories for serving it. Riggs followed with 
another holding sandwiches, and proceeded to 
pour the coffee. 

“Sit down, child,” directed Willmer, his 
eyes resting on the girl fondly. 

She joined them and accepted a cup of 
coffee from Riggs. 

“Mr. Bell has just talked with one of our 
unknown telephone friends,” explained Will¬ 
mer, “and Boyden, here, has asked him to de¬ 
scribe the person who called. I had no idea 
that such progress had been made in teleph¬ 
ony.” 

“ T ain’t every one kin do it,” advised Boy¬ 
den. “But I Ve seen Mr. Bell do it time and 
again.” 

Fenwick hesitated. 

“It is a fact,” he advised, “that the charac- 


90 


VOICES 


ter and physical characteristics of a person 
telephoning may be determined by the person 
at the other telephone. When you use the 
telephone to converse with a stranger, you un¬ 
consciously project your personality over the 
wire. This tendency is slightly exaggerated 
by your desire to create a definite impression 
or to attain a definite purpose. The slight 
exaggeration must merely be identified. 
Other points which are involved are enuncia¬ 
tion, vocabulary, telephone habits, geographi¬ 
cal variations in pronunciation, racial charac¬ 
teristics, and some others which are less tan¬ 
gible.” 

“How interesting!” exclaimed Miss Care we. 
“Do tell us what the last caller was like.” 

He ignored the others, and appeared to be 
addressing the girl exclusively. 

“The man is young, about twenty-four, I 
should say. He is a New Yorker, dark-com¬ 
plexioned, dirty, illiterate, wears a cap, smokes 
cigarettes, and lives by his wits. He is a brag¬ 
gart and a coward, although he never shrinks 
from physical conflict when the odds favor 
him. I should imagine his home to be on the 
East Side.” 

“You Ve described the kind of gunman one 


THEORIES AND FACTS 91 


sees in a play or reads about in the news¬ 
papers,” commented Miss Carewe. “I won¬ 
der if we shall ever have the opportunity of 
determining the accuracy of your descrip¬ 
tion.” 

“Jest leave it to Mr. Bell,” chimed in Boy- 
den. “I ’ll bet a big red apple he’s got it 
exactly right.” 

“Let’s have your report, Mr. King,” re¬ 
quested Fenwick. “Did you learn the tele¬ 
phone number of the calling party?” 

King shook his head dismally. 

“No, I didn’t,” he advised. “The operator 
gave me to the supervisor, and the supervisor 
turned me over to the night chief operator. 
Each one in turn assured me that no one was 
talking to Riverside 11,980!” 


CHAPTER VII 


FLIGHT 


ARREN WXLLMER was finally 



V V prevailed upon to retire, but not be¬ 
fore King, Boy den, and Fenwick had agreed 
to remain at his home until daylight. Riggs 
showed them to their rooms, and Fenwick, too, 
was about to turn in when Boy den entered, 
clad in an old-fashioned night-shirt. 

“We ’ve got to talk some time, Charlie,” he 
announced, “and things has been movin’ so 
fast X ain’t a bit sleepy. How about you?” 

“I think ten minutes of conversation might 
help,” admitted Fenwick. “What have you 
learned?” 

“Everything an’ nothin’,” responded the old 
man. “Toll-tickets hain’t been a bit o’ good, 
so far as tracin’ calls is concerned. We ’re up 
against a queer bunch. These here million¬ 
aires want to be helped, but they don’t want to 
help. Pendleton Ivirke knew more than he 
cared to tell, but he’s past helpin’ us. Will- 
mer knows a lot but ain’t sayin’ a word. Only 


FLIGHT 


98 


way to get anything out o’ him is to scare it 
out of him. He seems to scare easy. Young 
King is the nicest actin’ one of the lot, but he 
don’t know nothin’. As for the gal, she’s a 
little thoroughbred. I’m kinder dependin’ on 
her more than any o’ the others.” 

“What’s her status in the household?” in¬ 
quired Fenwick. 

“She’s the daughter of an old partner of 
Willmer’s. When her pa died he was busted, 
and Willmer promised to take keer o’ the gal. 
She’s full o’ spunk, though, and independent 
as kin be. Insisted on earnin’ her livin’, took 
a secretarial course in some school, an’ now 
she’s Willmer’s right-hand man. The old 
man’s crazy about her, and it’s the only de¬ 
cent thing I’ve noticed about him.” 

“Treats her pretty nice, does he?” quizzed 
F enwick. 

“Like a daughter. O’ course she goes to 
his office every day, but she has her own car, 
and he don’t deny her a thing. Oh, yes, he 
does—jest one. Seems the girl was studyin’ 
for the operatic stage before her dad cashed 
in, an’ she’s crazy to continue her studies. 
She don’t stand much chanst, though, with 
two of ’em discouragin’ her.” 



94 


VOICES 


“Who are the two?” demanded Fenwick. 

“Willmer an’ young Otis King. Willmer 
thinks the environment would be bad for her, 
an’ young King’s afraid she ’ll fall head over 
heels in love with a career.” 

“H’m,” mused Fenwick, a momentary 
shade passing over his face; “so that’s how 
the the land lies. Nice chap, King. Where 
did you get all this information, Seth?” 

“Some from the gal, but most of it from 
Higgs. Riggs is more or less human when 
you get to know him. Riggs sez Miss Ca- 
rewe has a wonderful voice. She sings at lit¬ 
tle musicales once in a while.” 

“How does Willmer feel about that?” 

“I don’t know about that,” confessed Boy- 
den, “but I ’ll find out in the mornin’.” 

“Please do. How did Miss Carewe know 
who I was when I entered the room to-night?” 

“She did n’t,” grinned Seth. “She thinks 
you ’re John Bell. Y’ see she answered the 
telephone when you called from Kirke’s place, 
and when we finished talkin’ I told her 
you was my boss. She wanted to know all 
about you, so I told her you were an expert 
telephone man and would clear up this trouble 
they Ve been havin’ in no time at all.” 


FLIGHT 


95 


“Hope I don’t disappoint her,” observed 
Fenwick. “What else have you learned?” 

“Nothin’ much. Shortly before nine o’clock 
I was talkin’ to Willmer an’ the ’phone rang. 
I coaxed him to answer it, an’ at the same time 
I cut in with a test-set. It sounded like a 
darky talkin’. ‘Ah’m askin’ is you goin’ to 
do the right thing, Mr. Willmer? Better 
had!’ sez the feller. At that Willmer slammed 
the receiver on the hook, an’ by the time I 
took it off again the call was lost. Willmer 
was hoppin’ mad because I listened in.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” counseled Fen¬ 
wick. 

“I won’t,” promised the little man. “Now, 
tell me about the murder.” 

Boyden drew himself up on the bed and 
listened spellbound while the young crimi¬ 
nologist gave a thrilling account of the events 
at Kirke’s residence. He hung upon every 
syllable, glorified in the more baffling details, 
and spent considerable time examining the 
letter-file and the small object which Fenwick 
had found in it. 

“Queer thing, ain’t it, Charlie? Jest be¬ 
fore I came away I was regrettin’ the fact 
that we did n’t have a murder case instead of 


96 


VOICES 


plain ordinary blackmail. Now we’ve got 
both. Do you aim to handle the Newton end 
of it alone?” 

"I’m through with Newton, Seth. I al¬ 
ways do the important thing first. Besides, 
Corson is at Newton, and while he’s officially 
out of his territory I know he won’t leave the 
Pendleton Kirke case until he has the answer. 
I’m satisfied with that arrangement, because 
it will keep him out of our way. So far as 
we ’re concerned, the answer is in New York.” 

“It’s a great shame,” remarked Boy den 
plaintively. “First murder case I Ve been 
on, an’ I ain’t even seen the corpse! Well, I 
s’pose it can’t be helped. What am I to do 
in the mornin’?” 

“You ’re going to be pretty busy,” advised 
Fenwick. “First, I want you to arrange to 
have all service observed from the telephone 
in this house and at King’s place at Forest 
Hills. Have the chief operator keep special 
records. Next, see the Riverside wire-chief 
and get him to make a voltmeter test on the 
two lines in this house.” 

Boy den whistled, then nodded approvingly. 

“I see what you mean,” he announced. 
“Gosh, mebbe that’s the answer!” 


FLIGHT 


97 


“I doubt it, Seth, but we can’t afford to 
overlook it. The next thing for you to do is 
to arrange with the operators at Willmer’s 
office to let you sit in at the switchboard. 
Listen in on all calls for Willmer’s personal 
extension. If any of them appear to involve 
our mysterious foes, endeavor to trace them. 
That ought to keep you busy all day. I ’ll 
be here at the house most of the time but will 
keep in touch with you if I can. Now, let's 
get a few hours’ sleep, or we won’t be fit in the 
morning.” 

“Right,” agreed the little man, jumping 
from the bed and making for the door. 

“Oh, Seth!” shouted Fenwick. “How 
about the telephone in this room? Is the cord 
up connecting it with one of the trunks?” 

“Took keer o’ that a little while ago,” an¬ 
nounced Boyden proudly. “You ’re up on 
one trunk, and the station in my room is 
plugged for the other one. If any one calls 
this house in the next few hours, no one’s go¬ 
ing to know it but Charlie Fenwick an’ yours 
truly!” 

On the heels of this annomicement came the 
faintest imaginable tinkle of the telephone 
bell. Both men stood silent and motionless, 


98 VOICES 

as if awaiting a further and decided signal, 
but none came. 

“What was that?” whispered Boyden. 

“That was the condenser discharging,” ad¬ 
vised Charlie. “Some one has pulled out the 
plug, and we are no longer connected with 
central!” 

He hurried to the telephone stand and 
lifted the receiver to verify the fact. A short 
examination assured him that his diagnosis 
was correct. 

“Try the extension in your room, Seth,” 
he directed; and Seth darted out of the room. 
In a moment he returned. 

“Not connected,” he reported; “and just 
as I came out of my room some one slipped 
into a room down the corridor. I did n’t 
see who it was—just saw the door close.” 

“Which room?” queried Fenwick. 

“The third from this one. I don’t know 
whose room it is, but whoever left it must have 
gone down to the switchboard to make a call.” 

“I doubt it,” observed Charlie. He re¬ 
turned to the telephone and again lifted the 
receiver and listened. 

“You ’re wrong, Seth,” he announced as he 


FLIGHT 


99 


replaced the receiver. “Any one endeavor¬ 
ing to make a telephone call would have had 
to remove the plug from either your exten¬ 
sion or mine. Upon completion of the call 
our extension would undoubtedly have been 
reconnected with the trunk. The person who 
went down-stairs did so with the express pur¬ 
pose of shutting us off from communication 
with the outside.” 

“I guess you ’re right, Charlie. Whoever 
’t was must have been readin’ the seventeenth 
chapter o’ Leviticus.” 

Somewhat amused, Fenwick waited. So 
did Seth, until he could wait no longer. 

“Well, ain’t ye gonna ask me what Leviticus 
says?” he demanded impatiently. 

“What does it say, Seth?” 

“It saj^s, T will cut him off.’ How’s that? 
Purty good one that time, eh?” 

“Pretty good, Seth. Now run along 
down-stairs and connect our stations with 
central once more. Then go to bed. We 
need sleep.” 

“I need more sleep than you do,” advised 
Boyden. 

“How is that?” inquired Charlie. 


100 


VOICES 


“Oh, I do ’most everything slower than you 
do, an’ I reckon I sleep slower than you, too. 
G’ night, Charlie!” 

“Good night, Seth,” chuckled Fenwick, and 
he snapped off the lights, jumped into bed, 
and immediately fell asleep. 

Three hours later he was awakened by a 
knock at his door. Without a word he slipped 
from the bed, released the catch, and threw the 
door wide open. Boyden, fully clothed 
and fresh and cheerful, greeted him with a 
smile. 

“It’s seven thirty, Charlie,” he announced. 
“Thought you’d like to get an early start 
to-day.” 

“All right, Seth,” he yawned, vexed at the 
commonplace summons that had aroused him. 
“I ’ll be down shortly.” 

“I ’ll nose around a bit,” observed the old 
man. “Mebbe I ’ll have something to tell 
you at breakfast.” 

A refreshing shower and the luxury of a 
shave entirely dissipated his desire for further 
sleep, and the young criminologist hurriedly 
dressed and descended the stairs. 

“Good morning, sir,” greeted Riggs. “We 
breakfast at all hours, sir. Miss Carewe 


FLIGHT 


101 


has just been served. Will you join her?” 

Fenwick assented and entered the dining¬ 
room. Lorraine looked up from her grape¬ 
fruit. 

“Ambition could be made of no sterner 
stuff than yours,” she smiled. “You Ve 
scarcely slept.” 

“How about yourself?” he challenged. 

The smile faded. 

“I have n’t slept a wink,” she confessed, as 
he took the chair Riggs indicated, facing her. 
“I’ve lain awake for ages, just thinking of 
poor Mr. Kirke and of Olive—that’s his 
daughter, you know. Do you really think 
you can soon put an end to all these dreadful 
occurrences?” 

“Undoubtedly,” he assured her. “We shall 
need all the help we can get, however, and 
I’m looking to you for assistance.” 

Tier eyes widened. 

“Flattery, small talk—or do you really 
mean it?” she inquired. “There’s little 
enough I know about these strange happen¬ 
ings. Of course I ’ll gladly answer any ques¬ 
tions.” 

“I knew you would,” he assured her. “Tell 
me who Mr. Willmer’s neighbors are.” 


102 


VOICES 


She gave him a graphic description of the 
owners or occupants of the adjoining man¬ 
sions and apartment-houses, their names re¬ 
sembling a page from the social register. She 
recited their hobbies and foibles, defining 
their social positions and their relations with 
Willmer and the other two members of the 
triumvirate. She could recall no reason for 
enmity between any of them and her employer 
and guardian. Fenwick listened attentively, 
thoroughly enjoying her vivacity, the clear¬ 
ness of her enunciation, and the music of her 
lovely voice. 

“Now tell me something about Otis King,” 
he requested. “How does he stand in the es¬ 
timation of Mr. Willmer? Has he ever had 
any trouble with Mr. Kirke?” 

A momentary blush was followed by a look 
of apparent reluctance. 

“The business of the triumvirate is colos¬ 
sal,” she advised slowly. “It is carried on 
throughout the world. Mr. Willmer is 
a remarkable executive. So was Mr. Kirke. 
The essential details of the business were al¬ 
ways at their finger-tips, and I have seldom 
seen them hesitate when a crisis arose. Mr. 
King was always taken into their confidence, 


FLIGHT 


103 


but he was handicapped by lack of experience. 
Sometimes he disagreed with them. On such 
occasions his personality and that of Mr. 
Kirke would clash. They were often at odds, 
but Mr. Willmer is wonderfully persuasive 
and convincing, and he usually straightened 
things out.” 

“Have they had any recent disagreements? 
Kirke and King, I mean.” 

“No, Mr. Bell; none that I know of.” 

“You would probably know if they had?” 
he suggested. 

Again she blushed slightly. 

“I think not, Mr. Bell. We are just good 
friends, and Otis is not the man to discuss 
his business problems with a woman.” 

They were interrupted by Riggs. 

“Mr. Corson to see you, sir.” 

“Do you mind if I have him in?” asked 
Charlie. 

“Not at all,” responded Lorraine. “I ’m 
really curious to see a great detective.” 

Riggs left the room, and the inspector strode 
in a moment later in his characteristic man¬ 
ner a picture of vigor and keeness. 

“I beg pardon,” he murmured, observing 
the girl. 


104 


VOICES 


“Allow me to present Inspector Corson, 
Miss Carewe,” introduced Fenwick. 

“Delighted, Miss Carewe,” acknowledged 
Corson. “I would n’t think of intruding, but 
it’s rather important.” 

“Won’t you join us?” invited the girl. 

“Thank you; I will have a sip of coffee, 
please. I ’ve been going all night.” 

“Anything new or startling?” queried Fen¬ 
wick. 

“Yes; the Newton police have arrested 
Peters. It’s ridiculous to suspect Peters, of 
course, when you have an alibi for him. I 
want to know how perfect that alibi is.” 

“Faultless and flawless,” announced Fen¬ 
wick. “I should call it unquestionable, were 
it not fqr the coincidence of the revolver.” 

“Some juries would hang a man on that evi¬ 
dence, Bell,” grunted Corson. “But that’s 
neither here nor there. Last night I kidded 
you and King a bit about your own position in 
this matter. Now I’m not kidding. How 
good is your own alibi, and how good is 
King’sr 

The girl gasped, and Fenwick chuckled. 

“I’m afraid we can only corroborate each 
other’s story, inspector,” he advised. 


FLIGHT 


105 


“I know mighty well that you ’re not in¬ 
volved,” interposed Corson hastily. ‘‘How 
about King? Were you seated in the blue 
room in a position to see him the moment he 
entered the house? Would he have had time 
to open the door of Kirke’s study while Pe¬ 
ters was bolting the front door?” 

“Probably—yes. Why do you ask?” 

“Peters tells me that King and Kirke were 
arguing when they drove up to the house. 
He could hear them when he hurried to admit 
Kirke, and as he opened the door King 
shouted from the car, “You ’ll tell me all you 
know, or have reason to regret it!” 

“Well?” 

“I’ve questioned Kirke’s maids and elimi¬ 
nated them. I know that some one in the 
house was responsible for Kirke’s death. It 
was n’t Peters, and it was n’t you. Who else 
was there?” 

“Otis King,” admitted Fenwick. “He sat 
beside me when the lights went out—when 
the sound of a shot rang out. He is absolutely 
innocent.” 

“Could n’t Mr. Kirke have taken his own 
life, inspector?” queried Lorraine anxiously. 

“He could n’t kill himself and then dispose 


106 


VOICES 


of the pistol,” returned Corson. “I Ve ran¬ 
sacked that den from top to bottom. Now I 
want to see King.” 

Boy den entered the room, beaming. 

“My assistant, Mr. Boyden, inspector,” in¬ 
troduced Fenwick, and the two shook hands. 

“Kin I talk right out in meetin’, Mr. Bell?” 
inquired Seth. “We ’re all good friends.” 

Fenwick nodded. 

“Remember how some one snuck down¬ 
stairs last night an’ disconnected our ’phones? 
Remember I told you how I seen some one 
shut the door o’ the third room f’m yours. 
Well, sir, Riggs tells me that King was 
s’posed to sleep in that room. I trotted up 
to question him, but he wasn’t there!” 

Corson jumped to his feet. 

“There you are!” he muttered. “What 
does that look like?” 

“Flight!” answered Fenwick. “I wonder 
if it really is?” 


CHAPTER VIII 

A NEW MAN IN THE CASE 

W HERE did King keep his ear over¬ 
night?” demanded Corson. 

“Riggs tells me it was still in front o’ the 
house when the young feller turned in last 
night,” advised Boyden. 

“Do any of you know the license-number?” 
catechized the inspector. 

Fenwick turned to Lorraine, who appeared 
to hesitate. He nodded reassuringly. 

“I know it,” she admitted. “It’s 23-773.” 
“Thank you, miss,” acknowledged Corson. 
He walked across the room to the telephone- 
table. 

“Spring 3100,” he directed. A pause. 
“Give me McKetchnie, operator. . . . Mac, 
this is Corson. Put down this number. 
Ready? 23-773. That’s a tag-number; 
stolen motor-car. France-Corlies speedster; 
color, dark brown. Thief has owner’s creden¬ 
tials. Find it this morning, within the hour 

107 


108 


VOICES 


if you can, and be sure to get the man who 
took it! When you do, call me on Newton 
4987. If I’m not there they ’ll tell you where 
I am. G’by.” 

He jabbed the receiver on the hook with an 
air of satisfaction. 

“If King is anywhere in the five boroughs 
with that car we ’ll find him,” he assured Fen¬ 
wick. “When we do he ’ll have to explain.” 

“Ingenious enough,” acknowledged Charlie. 
“You certainly have wonderful machinery at 
your command. I rather fancy you ’ll get 
your man.” 

“Sure to,” responded Corson. “I’m really 
interested in this case, and I mean to help the 
Queens people get to the bottom of it. Kirke 
was shot, and the revolver can’t be found. 
Obviously he could n’t shoot himself. A 
number of people were locked in his house 
and were there when the shooting occurred. 
One of them is guilty. I’m gambling it was 
Otis King.” 

“What disposition did he make of the wea¬ 
pon afterward?” inquired Fenwick quietly. 

Corson glared at him. 

“Unfortunately,” he observed slowly, “King 
was not searched before he left Newton.” 


A NEW MAN IN THE CASE 109 

“Neither was I,” reminded Fenwick unper¬ 
turbed. 

“I’m not overlooking that fact, either,” re¬ 
torted Corson making for the door. “I ’ll see 
you later.” With a good-humored smile and 
nod, he left them. 

“Get down town right away, Seth,” ordered 
Fenwick, “and follow out the program we 
discussed last night.” 

“I ain’t had any breakfast,” reminded the 
little man reproachfully. 

“True enough, you have n’t. Well, after 
breakfast, then. It’s been rather an event¬ 
ful breakfast, has n’t it?” he added, turning to 
Miss Carewe. 

“Rather,” she admitted, smiling wanly. 
She rang for Riggs to serve Boyden. “Just 
what are you going to do to-day, Mr. Boy¬ 
den?” she inquired. 

Seth reflected for a moment. 

“In the words of Isaiah, sixty-fifth chapter, 
verse twenty-four, ‘Before they call, I will 
answer; and while they are yet speakin’, I 
will hear.’ ” 

Her brows wrinkled in bewitching perplex¬ 
ity. 

“He means,” interpreted Fenwick, “that 


110 VOICES 

he ’s going down to the Willmer Building to 
listen in on some telephone conversations.” 

She laughed, a rippling spontaneous laugh 
that seemed to please Boyden. 

“There ain’t a thing about the telephone 
business the Bible don’t tell about,” he boasted. 

“Unfortunately we ’re not so familiar with 
it as you, Mr. Boyden.” 

“It’s a great pity,” he announced. “I 
don’t know what the young folks is cornin’ to 
these days.” 

Lorraine searched his serious countenance 
and successfully located the mischievous 
twinkle in his eyes that belied the lugubrious 
announcement. 

“You ’re a dear,” she decided impetuously. 
“And what do you propose doing, Mr. Bell?” 
she asked curiously. 

“I contemplate spending the morning right 
here,” he told her. “Perhaps we ’ll have some 
more mysterious messages, and if we do, I 
shall want to answer them.” 

“That’s splendid. I shall be here most of 
the morning myself. Mr. Willmer is not go¬ 
ing to the office to-day. I told Riggs to let 
him sleep. I felt so sorry for him last night 
and this morning. He was like a noble old 


A NEW MAN IN THE CASE 111 


lion at bay; grim, determined, and yet fully 
aware of his helplessness. If he really has 
enemies, they could choose no more opportune 
moment to strike than the present. You ’ll 
watch carefully, won’t you?” she pleaded. 
“He needs protection.” 

“His condition is entirely psychological,” 
declared Fenwick. “You should use your in¬ 
fluence to induce a better state of mind. He 
appears to me to be suffering from a form of 
mental cowardice. But tell me, have you no 
fears for the safety of Otis King?” 

“None,” she advised, meeting his gaze tran¬ 
quilly. “Chief Corson’s hypothesis is absurd 
and ridiculous! I ’ll grant that his sudden 
disappearance apparently strengthens the 
chief’s theory, but I dare say Otis will turn up 
shortly, and with a satisfactory explanation.” 

“I think and hope your conclusions are cor¬ 
rect, Miss Carewe.” 

“Thank you.” 

“It’s been kind o’ you two young people to 
keep me comp’ny,” announced Seth, who had 
completed a hearty breakfast. “I ’ll be go in’ 
down town now. Shall I have your bag sent 
here f’m the hotel?” 

“Please do. I’m going to look over the 


112 


VOICES 


switchboard and other telephone equipment,” 
announced Fenwick as Lorraine arose. 

“May I accompany you?” she inquired. 
“It’s so marvelous and intricate that I’m for 
ever wondering about it. 111 try not to an¬ 
noy you by asking questions.” 

“Glad to have you, and don’t be afraid to 
ask questions.” 

Seth departed, and Lorraine led the way to 
the switchboard in a small room at the rear 
of the house, which served as a sort of office to 
Willmer’s housekeeper. Fenwick gave it a 
casual examination, idly throwing the keys 
back and forth. 

“How is it possible for one girl to connect 
us with any of the thousands of telephones in 
this great city?” asked Lorraine. 

“It requires two girls, not one,” corrected 
Fenwick. “A call is handled by only one op¬ 
erator if both the called and calling parties are 
served by the same central office. A very 
small percentage of the calls made each day 
fall into this class. 

“Your operator, however, has calling cir¬ 
cuits to all other central offices. For instance, 
if you should ask for a Cortlandt number, 
while your operator was repeating your num- 


A NEW MAN IN THE CASE 113 


ber to you she would also be pressing a key 
which would connect her with an operator in 
the Cortlandt central office. Over that pri¬ 
vate wire your operator would give the number 
to the other operator, and the other girl would 
repeat a mystic number which tells the River¬ 
side operator which trunk to plug your call in 
on. In the mean time the Cortlandt operator 
has already plugged in your number and con¬ 
nected it with the trunk she has designated, 
so that when your girl plugs in on that trunk 
your connection is completed. Then a ma¬ 
chine starts ringing the bell of the person you 
have called. Perfectly simple, is n’t it?” 

“I should call it uncanny,” observed Lor¬ 
raine. “There’s another thing I want to ask 
you. Would it be possible for some one to 
tap our wires?” 

“For the purpose of listening in? Yes; 
that would be entirely possible.” 

“No; that is n’t quite what I mean. Would 
it be possible for a wire-tapper to send mes¬ 
sages over our wire? To talk over it?” 

“Yes, indeed. In fact, I’m going to work 
on that theory this morning. You will re¬ 
call that I questioned you regarding the neigh¬ 
bors? I had that thought in mind at the time. 


114 


VOICES 


It hardly seems probable, however, since it 
would be detected sooner or later.” 

“I see. What part of the telephone ser¬ 
vice are you and Mr. Boy den responsible for?” 

“I am a wire-chief, which really means an 
electrician. The wire-chief is responsible for 
the mechanical end of the telephone central 
office—the wiring, the dynamos and storage 
batteries, the cables and fuses. Each wire- 
chief has a staff of trained men to assist him 
either within or outside the central office. 
These men repair any injury to the wires or 
instruments as soon as it is reported. Seth 
is an outside trouble man, usually called a 
trouble-shooter.” 

“What a ridiculous title! Mr. Boyden is 
the last man in the world I would imagine go¬ 
ing about looking for trouble. I suppose you 
have all kinds of weird and uncanny instru¬ 
ments to assist you?” 

“We have,” smiled Fenwick. “We have, 
for instance, a voltmeter, which enables us 
to determine if current is flowing off a line, 
and which indicates whether trouble on a cir¬ 
cuit is inside or outside the central office, and 
sometimes tells us the nature of the trouble. 



A NEW MAN IN THE CASE 115 

We also have a Wheatstone bridge, an instru¬ 
ment by which we determine the precise lo¬ 
cality at which a break has occurred. There 
are many other devices the wire-chief uses 
each day.” 

“And what makes the telephone talk?” 
queried Lorraine naively. “Of course I’m 
frightfully non-technical, but I don’t know 
any other way to word my question.” 

“I understand,” he assured her. “There 
are three essential parts to an ordinary tele¬ 
phone. These are the transmitter, the source 
of current, and the receiver. Telephone cur¬ 
rent is very feeble and really plays a less im¬ 
portant part in a telephone conversation than 
the vibrations of your voice.” 

He unscrewed the rubber mouthpiece of 
the transmitter and revealed a sheet of ex¬ 
tremely thin, flexible metal. 

“This is a diaphragm,” he announced. 
“When sound-waves strike it it moves a tiny 
distance, sufficient to move a small rod up and 
down. The rod is fixed to the center of the 
diaphragm and at the other end to a small 
disk of carbon. This carbon disk, or button, 
rests in a cup of the same material. The cup 


116 


VOICES 


is loosely filled with grains of carbon, which 
have a high electrical resistance. In other 
words, they choke back electricity. 

“The current must pass through the car¬ 
bon cup, the carbon grains, and to the carbon 
button before it can reach the receiver at the 
distant point. The more scattered the grains 
are the greater their resistance, and the less 
electricity can pass. The less electricity the 
less noise at the other end of the wire. So 
when you speak into the transmitter the dia¬ 
phragm moves, pressing the grains tighter to¬ 
gether or letting them rest loosely. Each tiny 
movement caused by the vibration of your 
voice changes the force of the current and re¬ 
produces sound in the receiver at the other 
telephone.” 

“Sheer magic!” exclaimed the girl. “I’m 
sorry to take up so much of your time, and 
I’m going to leave you to your own devices. 
If you want me, Riggs will find me for you. 
Thank you for my lesson in telephony.” 

“Don’t mention it!” murmured Fenwick, 
his frankly admiring gaze following her as she 
left the room. 

He again directed his attention to the 
switchboard, removing the panel beneath it to 


A NEW MAN IN THE CASE 117 

examine the wiring. An examination of the 
extension-stations and jacks for portable in¬ 
struments on the lower floor of the house fol¬ 
lowed. Returning to the switchboard he 
connected the library extension with central 
and then ascended the rear staircase to the 
second floor, where he made a similar inspec¬ 
tion of the equipment. The maids were busy 
putting the rooms in order and regarded him 
curiously as he made his somewhat perfunc¬ 
tory examination. When he reached Lor¬ 
raine Carewe’s boudoir he hesitated until a 
somewhat oyer-vivacious French girl assured 
him he might enter. 

He walked directly to the escritoire on which 
the telephone stood and removed the little 
bisque doll, whose rose-colored crinoline skirt 
concealed the instrument. The telephone was 
of special finish, old rose in color, harmoniz¬ 
ing with the general tone of the room. 
Scarcely giving it a glance, he carefully re¬ 
placed the bisque creation and walked from 
the room, the maid laughing audibly as he left. 
He flushed to his ears, realizing how evident 
his confusion had been, and how unimpressive 
his examination. Miladi’s boudoir un¬ 
nerved him, and he had only a vague impres- 


s 


118 VOICES 

sion of its appointments, daintiness, and 
charm. 

“Idiot!” he growled in self-reproach, and 
then hesitated on the threshold of the library. 
Miss Carewe was engaged in letter-writing. 

“May I come in?” he inquired. 

“Surely.” She laid aside her pen. “Why, 
what has happened, Mr. Bell?” 

“Nothing,” he assured her, his blushes 
deepening, and once more he mentally cursed 
his diffidence. 

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. 

“Sure?” she inquired. 

The ringing of the telephone bell afforded 
him a welcome respite, but caused him to re¬ 
call that he had connected the instrument with 
central, had decided to visit the library, and 
had intuitively felt that Lorraine would be 
there when he arrived. Lorraine answered 
the telephone. 

“It’s Mr. Boyden calling you,” she an¬ 
nounced, offering him the instrument. He 
conversed with Boyden for five minutes, and, 
when he replaced the receiver on the hook, 
had entirely recovered his composure. Miss 
Carewe was sealing some envelopes when he 
turned to her. 


A NEW MAN IN THE CASE 119 

“Boyden’s had a lead,” he informed her, 
“but it looks as if we ’re up against a very in¬ 
genious gang. One of the voices asked for 
Mr. Willmer at the office a while ago, and 
Boyden took the call. He engaged the fel¬ 
low in conversation and at the same time scrib¬ 
bled directions on a pad for one of the 
P. B. X. operators to follow. 

“First he told her to find out who was call¬ 
ing, and she learned that the call was from 
a coin-box station at the Grand Central. 
Then he told her to learn the numbers of the 
other public telephones in booths adjacent to 
the one from which the call was made, and to 
have the operator ring one of them. He 
hoped to attract some one’s attention and have 
them nab the fellow who was talking. 

“All the ’phones were reported busy, how¬ 
ever, and the owner of the voice apparently 
grew suspicious and hung up. Boyden per¬ 
sisted and finally got in communication with 
the Grand Central people, who investigated. 
They found, that the fellow had taken the 
receivers off the hooks of all the other coin¬ 
box telephones before making his call, for the 
purpose of preventing any such attempt as 
that made by Boyden. The operator can’t 


120 VOICES 

ring, you know, if the receiver is off the 
hook.” 

“And the man got away?” she asked, 
troubled. 

“I’m afraid so. Boyden has gone up to 
look around and ask questions, but it seems 
sort of hopeless to expect him to learn any¬ 
thing about a single individual in the masses 
of transient persons at the Grand Central.” 

“You haven’t been as successful as you 
hoped then?” she inquired. 

“We haven’t done anything spectacular, 
but we ’re making progress. We ’ve been 
gathering together a number of tiny particles 
for use in a mosaic, and we ’ll soon be in a 
position to put the particles together. When 
we do we expect to have a picture that any 
one can understand.” 

“Soon?” 

“Very soon, I think.” 

She smiled and seemed reassured, her man¬ 
ner changing as she changed the subject. 

“You wanted me to remind you to tell me 
something,” she said. “Something about 
what an educated Arab once told you.” 

Fenwick was uncomfortably affected by 


A NEW MAN IN THE CASE 121 

the reminder, and once more was apparently 
covered with confusion. 

“Some other time, please,” he responded 
hastily. “N-not now.” 

“Do tell me now,” she persisted. 

“I—I can’t. I don’t know you well 
enough. I don’t know what ever possessed 
me to make such a statement. Please for¬ 
get all about it.” 

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” she de¬ 
clined positively. “I ’ve half a notion it was 
about me, anyway. Come, Mr. Telephone 
Man, what was it?” 

“It would be presumptuous—impertinent, 
for me to tell you.” 

“I don’t believe it. Tell me; I’m wait- 
ing!” 

“You insisted, remember,” he advised, 
struggling to retain his composure. “This 
Arab once described to me a Moslem’s idea 
of feminine beauty, and had reduced it to a 
kind of mathematical formula quite easy to 
remember. He said, first of all, that a 
woman must possess four attributes that are 
black—hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, and pupils. 
Then four that are white—skin, hands, teeth, 


122 


VOICES 


and the white of the eye; four that are red—* 
cheeks, lips, tongue, and gums; four that are 
long—back, arms, fingers, and—and limbs. 
Lastly, four that are small—eyebrows, nose, 
lips, and fingers. This, he said, was Al¬ 
lah’s conception of beauty.” 

Fenwick regarded the opposite side of the 
room with well simulated interest, while the 
girl repressed a smile. 

“And why should you feel it incumbent 
upon you to acquaint me with the aberra¬ 
tions of some harem-loving scamp of an 
Arab?” she demanded sternly. 

“They are not aberrations,” he denied 
stoutly. “Can’t you see that, despite the 
mathematical feature of it, he’s really de¬ 
scribed a wonderfully beautiful woman?” 

“Well, what of it, Mr. Bell?” she per¬ 
sisted. “Why tell me?” 

“Because his description occurred toi me 
the minute I saw you,” he blurted. “You 
5 —you are the girl he described!” 

There was a moment’s uncomfortable si¬ 
lence, broken by the girl. 

“You should surely succeed in running 
down the voices, Mr. Bell,” she declared. 
“You are so observant! I suppose I should 



A NEW MAN IN THE CASE 123 

feel flattered at your kindly interest, your 
knowledge of the color of my eyelashes, 
gums, and tongue. You promised that your 
statement would be—” 

“Hullo, Lorraine,” greeted Otis King, 
sauntering into the room and dropping into a 
chair. “Morning, Bell.” He sensed a con¬ 
strained situation and sought to relieve it. 
“Been bottling up the voices, you two?” 

“Where have you been, Otis?” asked the 
girl. 

“Just came in with Boyden. He picked 
me up at the Grand Central.” 

“What?” she exclaimed, directing a wor¬ 
ried glance at Fenwick. 

“At the Grand Central. Say, Bell, how 
did Inspector Corson know my car was 
stolen?” 

“Was it stolen?” asked Fenwick quietly. 

“Sure was. I heard it moving away from 
the house this morning just as I was getting 
ready for bed. Slipped on my things and 
gave chase for hours in a taxi. Lost and 
found it several times. Finally picked up the 
trail way up the Drive, headed the fellow off, 
chased him down town, and lost him in the 
crowd. Then, at the Grand Central, I 


124 


VOICES 


stumbled right on to the fellow, in the clutches 
of an officer, who insisted that the theft had 
been reported by Corson!” 

“It had,” advised Fenwick. “Did they get 
the thief?” 

“Corson and Boyden have him downstairs 
now. Shall I tell you what he looks like?” 

“Please, Otis,” begged the girl. 

“Well, he’s an Italian, about twenty-four, 
dark complexioned, dirty, illiterate, wears a 
cap, and smokes cigarettes.” 

“Why, that’s the same as the man you de¬ 
scribed this morning!” advised the girl, turn¬ 
ing to Fenwick. “That’s the description you 
gave of the owner of the voice!” 

“Bight-o,” asserted King. “Just what 
I’ve been thinking. Come down and have a 
look. Corson wants to see both of you, any¬ 
way.” 


CHAPTER IX 


NICK NAPOLIELO 

T HE Italian sat stolidly in an easy-chair 
at Corson’s side. Boyden occupied an¬ 
other chair in the doorway leading to the hall, 
as if to discourage any attempt at flight. As 
Fenwick, King, and Miss Carewe entered the 
room the prisoner’s face showed a momentary 
flash of animation, which as quickly disap¬ 
peared. 

“Which one of them do you know, Nick?” 
demanded Corson, observant as ever. 

“Nobody, boss,” responded Nick promptly. 
“That’s a lie, but we ’ll let it pass for the 
present. Were it not for a fabric of lies 
there would be no mystery to this case at all. 
It’s merely a question of determining what 
is false and what is true. ,You’d all be better 
off if you’d come through with the truth. 
Mr. King for instance, learned that I had re¬ 
ported his car as stolen. I did that so that the 
police would find him for me after his signi- 

125 


126 


VOICES 


ficant disappearance. Then he turns up 
with the story that it really had been stolen, 
and that he had been endeavoring to catch the 
thief. Does n’t that strike you, Mr. King, as 
stretching the long arm of coincidence a bit 
too far?” 

King shrugged his shoulders. 

“It seems to me, old chap, that you are the 
lad who did the stretching. You reported 
the car stolen when you really believed it to be 
in my possession. You are entirely responsible 
for the coincidence. A fabric of lies, did you 
say?” 

Corson glared at him. 

“Unfortunately,” he advised. “I am com¬ 
pelled to fight fire with fire. You are in a 
particularly unenviable position. What were 
you and Pendleton Kirke quarreling about 
when you drove up to his house last night?” 

“The voices,” answered King promptly. 

“What about them?” 

“Kirke admitted that he knew more than 
he cared to tell. I insisted on sharing his 
knowledge, and what was originally a mild 
dispute suddenly assumed the proportions of 
a hot altercation. It ended, however, when 
he entered his home at Newton.” 


NICK NAPOLIELO 


127 


“Or a few minutes later,” added the in¬ 
spector significantly. “Why did you wait in 
your car while he entered the house?” 

“Kirke promised to get some papers for 

5J 

me. 

“Indeed! Mr. Bell, doesn’t it strike you 
that we are a pair of idiots not to have investi¬ 
gated that phase of the case?” 

“Not at all,” responded Fenwick quietly. 

“Why not?” demanded Corson. “Pre¬ 
sumably the papers were in Kirke’s den. 
They have been referred to on several occa¬ 
sions, but I have not heard anything about 
what happened to them. Are they still in the 
den, or did they disappear after Kirke 
was killed? What sort of papers were 
they?” 

Both Fenwick and King began to speak at 
once, but Fenwick nodded to King and the 
latter answered Corson. 

“They were documents of a confidential 
nature, the property of Willmer, Kirke & 
King. They were in the center drawer of 
Kirke’s desk. Mr. Bell obtained them for me 
while we were waiting for you to appear. 
They are now in Mr. Willmer’s possession.” 

“Is that correct, Bell?” 


128 


VOICES 


“Absolutely. They were in an envelope 
addressed to King. 5 ' 

“Why didn’t you take the trouble to ad- 
yise me?” persisted Corson. 

“It struck me as a detail of no consequence, 
and is as excusable as the fact that you entirely 
ignored all references to the papers.” 

“H-m! Mr. Boyden tells me that one of 
the voices telephoned Willmer’s office to-day, 
and that the call was traced to the upper level, 
Grand Central Station. King was at the 
Grand Central at the time the call was re¬ 
ceived, and a few minutes later encountered 
the officer who arrested Nick. Did you make 
a telephone-call, Mr. King, from the Grand 
Central?” 

“I did.” 

“Who did you call?” 

“Police headquarters, to report the theft of 
my car. They told me it had already been 
reported by you.” 

“You made no other calls?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Please answer my question.” 

“I have nothing to say,” responded King 
coldly. 


NICK NAPOLIELO 129 

“Mr. Boyden, what sort of a voice did you 
hear over the ’phone?” 

“Well, inspector, I’d say that the feller 
who was talkin’ was tryin’ to disguise his 
voice.” 

“Would you recognize the voice? Had you 
ever heard it before?” 

Boyden hesitated. 

“Well, sir,” he proceeded, “just as soon as 
I heard it I kinder thought to myself, “That 
feller sounds like Mr. Otis Kingl’ ” 

Lorraine gasped at this announcement, and 
steadied herself by grasping the back of a 
chair. 

“Is it true, Otis?” she demanded. “Are we 
to believe that you are leagued with this mur¬ 
derous band?” 

“Not a bit of it, dear girl,” he denied 
lightly. “Old Hawkshaw and the parson 
here seem to have me up a bit of a tree, but 
it’s only a momentary diversion, ’pon my 
honor. Let Messrs. Corson and Boyden pro¬ 
ceed with their bizarre entertainment while we 
remain mute but interested spectators.” 

“Smart, aren’t you?” yelled Corson, losing 
his temper at this show of King’s indifference 


130 VOICES 

and contempt. “You know perfectly well 
that I have n’t got enough of a case against 
you yet to hold you, especially if you turn 
loose your high-priced legal talent! Well, I 
don’t give a damn how many millions you have 
in back of you, I’m going to get you!” 

King returned the inspector’s glare with a 
chuckle. 

“Let me know if I can he of assistance,” he 
volunteered. 

“You can,” announced Corson grimly. 
“Hereafter I won’t make a single move on this 
case unless you are with me. You are going 
to be my first assistant.” 

“You overwhelm me with honors,” pro¬ 
tested Otis. “However I accept. What’s 
our first job? Shall it be the voices, 
or the murderer of poor old Pendleton 
Kirke?” 

“Otis!” reproved the girl, shocked by the 
young millionaire’s flippant manner. She 
twisted at her handkerchief with both hands 
and glanced uncertainly about the room. “I 
—I can’t stand this! I am going to my 
room.” 

She hurried past Boyden and fairly ran 
across the hall and up the stairs. King’s anx- 


NICK NAPOLIELO 131 

ious gaze followed her as she fled, and then 
a far-away look dawned in his eyes. 

“On some happier occasion,” he murmured 
to no one in particular, “some one is going to 
pay for this!” 

“I’d like to question your prisoner, in¬ 
spector,” announced Fenwick. 

“Very well. He says his name is Nick 
Napolielo and that he does n’t know a soul in 
this house. I don’t believe a word he says.” 

“Nick,” began Fenwick, “why did you take 
Mr. King’s car?” 

“Joy-ride. Tha’s all, boss. I t’ink, 
mabbe, I get my girl, I tak-a her leetle ride. 
Then this mans, he’s a-chase me, so I keep 
goin’.” 

“Do you expect me to believe that your girl 
would accompany you on an automobile ride 
at four o’clock in the morning?” 

“Sure. Lucia, she’s a go in an auto any 
time. She’s a-crazy for machine.” 

“What were you going to do with the car 
when you finished your ride?” 

“Justa leave some place. On da street, 
mabbe.” 

Since the inception of the case the telephone 
had played so evil a part that the aversion to 


182 


VOICES 


it which Willmer so consistently displayed had 
been communicated in a lesser degree to all 
the others. Every time it rang the sudden 
hush and uneasiness that followed was dra¬ 
matic. 

As Nick answered Fenwick’s question the 
bell jangled furiously, and Corson jumped 
from his chair. Boyden half arose, and Fen¬ 
wick wheeled about, facing the instrument, 
and then stood motionless. King stretched 
languidly, both hands in his trouser-pockets, 
and yawned with affected boredom. The 
prisoner looked from one to another, be¬ 
wildered, and then laughed. 

“Ah, gee! Whassa matt’?” he demanded. 
“She’s no gonna hurt you!” 

“Go to the switchboard, Seth,” ordered 
Fenwick; and the little man silently slipped 
from the room. Charlie lifted the receiver to 
his ear, and Corson stood at his elbow as if he 
hoped to hear fragments of the caller’s con¬ 
versation. 

“Mr. Willmer’s residence, Bell speaking,” 
announced Fenwick. 

“This is Willmer,” answered the financier. 
“Come up to my den when you get time, will 
you?” 


NICK NAPOLIELO 133 

“I ’ll be right up, sir.” He replaced the re¬ 
ceiver on the hook. 

“It was Mr. Willmer,” he advised. “He 
wants to see me. Where’s Nick?” 

“Damn it! He’s gone!” barked Corson, 
flying to the door, which he slammed violently 
as he left the house. 

Charlie regarded King quizzically. 

“Well?” inquired King. 

“Where’s Nick?” asked Fenwick quietly. 
“Is he still in the house?” 

The junior member of the triumvirate ap¬ 
peared to be disconcerted by the young wire- 
chief’s manner. 

“He left by the front entrance when you 
answered the telephone.” 

“Didn’t you know enough to stop him?” 

“You forget that I am now Inspector Cor¬ 
son’s deputy. I was merely awaiting orders 
from my chief.” 

Boyden reappeared and immediately noted 
Nick’s disappearance. 

“Where’s that Italian, feller?” he de¬ 
manded. 

“Mr. King permitted him to walk out while 
I was telephoning,” advised Fenwick. “Cor¬ 
don i§ out looking for him.” 


134 


VOICES 


“I ’ll do some lookin’ myself,” exclaimed 
Seth, making for the door. As it closed after 
him Fenwick again turned to King. 

“This won’t do at all,” he announced. “Cor¬ 
son has real evidence against you, and can 
make things decidedly unpleasant if he cares 
to. What object had you in furthering his 
escape?” 

“I did n’t want to see the poor devil suffer 
for a mere lark,” protested King earnestly. 
“I believe his story about taking the car for 
a joy-ride.” 

“ Your position is obviously unfair,” pointed 
out Fenwick. “I am endeavoring to assist 
you and your associates, and have taken you 
into my confidence. For some inexplicable 
reason you are now obstructing Corson’s in¬ 
vestigation and impeding my own efforts. 
The absurdity of your excuse for permitting 
Nick’s escape is patent. Are you going to 
force me to subscribe to Corson’s theory? Am 
I to believe that yours is one of the voices?” 

“I hope not, old chap,” responded King, 
“You know perfectly well that I had nothing 
to do with Pendleton Kirke’s death. I give 
you my word that I have respected your con¬ 
fidence and haven’t breathed a word, to a 


NICK NAPOLIELO 135 

soul about Charlie Fenwick being on this case. 
But I can’t for the life of me understand why 
Corson should suspect or endeavor to incrim¬ 
inate a chance passer-by who makes off with 
my motor-car.” 

“We will not argue, Mr. King,” said Fen¬ 
wick, disappointed. “You have ventured the 
opinion on a number of occasions that your 
partners knew more than they cared to tell 
about the voices. I am compelled to feel that 
your own position does not differ materially 
from theirs. When you feel at liberty to di¬ 
vulge such information as you have, I shall 
feel it incumbent on me to resume the frank 
attitude that is due an honest client. Until 
then, my methods, progress, and all other ac¬ 
tions will be directed toward completing this 
case for Mr. Reeves of the telephone company, 
who is alone responsible for my assignment to 
it.” 

Riggs answered the door and admitted Cor¬ 
son and Boy den just as Willmer strode into 
the room. The financier halted as he sensed 
a constrained attitude on the part of the occu¬ 
pants. 

“What’s the row, gentlemen?” he inquired. 

“He got away,” advised Corson, addressing 


136 


VOICES 


Fenwick and ignoring Willmer. “Probably 
boarded a passing bus. Boyden and I 
scouted around for several blocks but saw 
nothing of him.” 

“Mr. King’s car was stolen early this morn¬ 
ing, Mr. Willmer,” informed Fenwick. “In¬ 
spector Corson’s men caught the fellow and 
brought him here. The inspector believed 
him to be more than a common thief. While 
we were conferring in this room he escaped.” 

“Escaped from four able-bodied men?” 
queried Willmer. “How?” 

“Your brilliant partner permitted him to 
make a get-away while you were talking to 
Bell over the telephone,” answered Corson 
bitterly. 

“Who? When?” demanded Willmer in 
staccato tones. “I have n’t been talking to 
Bell.” 

“Neither he has,” put in Boyden. “I lis¬ 
tened in at the switchboard, and, while the 
voice sounded like Mr. Willmer, the call was 
from outside the house!” 


CHAPTER X 


THE TWELFTH HOUR 

H IS face drawn and haggard, Willmer 
paced the room nervously, while Cor¬ 
son, Boy den, King, and Fenwick regarded 
him mutely and uncomfortably. They fully 
realized the terrific strain he was under, and 
even Corson felt sorry for him. The finan¬ 
cier had passed a sleepless night, but had re¬ 
gained some semblance of control over his 
nerves in the morning. 

In his characteristic manner, curt and de¬ 
cisive, he had cabled the news of Kirke’s death 
to the wife and daughter in France, had ar¬ 
ranged for the care of the body of his late 
partner, and, in lieu of eagerly sought inter¬ 
views by the newspaper men, had issued a 
general statement to the press. Now, clad 
in somber mourning garb, ashen-hued of 
countenance, he walked up and down the room 
as if he were alone, a broken, hopeless, dis¬ 
traught man. 


137 


138 


VOICES 


Riggs appeared in the doorway, standing 
aside to let Miss Carewe precede him into the 
room. As she entered, Willmer threw back 
his shoulders, as if struggling to master his 
emotions, and forced a wan smile. 

“My dear,” he said simply, taking both her 
hands in his, “I’ve scarcely seen you to-day. 
Were you equal to the task of getting off those 
messages ? If you were n’t, don’t bother. 
I ’ll have Kavanagh run up from the office 
and take care of them.” 

“The letters have gone,” she assured him, 
“and I would welcome any additional work 
you might give me. I should like to have 
something to occupy my mind and time. Can 
I be of any further assistance to you?” 

A slow, negative shake of the head an¬ 
swered her. Then he said: “I’ve been 
thinking that it would be a fine thing for you 
to get away for a few weeks. The Trents, 
perhaps—or you could visit Dot Cameron, in 
South Orange. This is scarcely a proper at¬ 
mosphere for a girl like you. We seem to 
be living in an environment that I believed 
was peculiar to the dime novel. You ’re not 
looking well, my child. A month of hikes 


THE TWELFTH HOUR 139 

and rides through the South Mountain Reser¬ 
vation, with some country-club activities in 
the evening, would banish the constantly seri¬ 
ous, care-worn expression I ’ve noticed lately. 
What do you say?” 

“I say no,” she answered unhesitatingly, 
“It is my duty to repay you for the care and 
the home you have given me. My father’s 
daughter would never run away from trouble, 
and right now I must be here where I can 
help. These gentlemen, Mr. Bell and Mr. 
Corson, will tell you that I have helped. 
Why, even now, I have brought Riggs here be¬ 
cause he knows something that may help us.” 

“Indeed?” queried Willmer, noticing the 
servant for the first time. “What is it, 
Riggs?” 

“It’s about the person who just escaped, 
sir. I understand that he claimed he knew no 
one in this house, and had merely been passing 
by when he conceived the notion of—er—bor¬ 
rowing Mr. King’s car. So I have just been 
telling Miss Carewe that the man had been 
in this house before.” 

“What?” demanded Willmer. “When was 
this?” 



140 


VOICES 


“Early this morning, sir. After I had 
shown the gentlemen to their rooms, and every 
one was retiring, I was making the rounds, 
assuring myself that the doors and windows 
were properly fastened. As I was about to 
secure the front doors this Italian chap saun¬ 
tered down the stairs, cap in hand and a cig¬ 
arette in his mouth. 

“ ‘Match?’ he says to me, cool enough. 

“I was so taken by surprise I hastened to 
oblige him. He struck the match, lit the 
cigarette, and walked past me. It was not 
until he was half-way out of the house that I 
grew suspicious. 

“ ‘Who have you been seeing, sir?’ I asked, 
knowing I had not admitted him. 

“ ‘Mr. Willmer,’ says he. ‘I’m from the 
telephone company. Good night.’ 

“With that he shuts the door and goes down 
the steps. I finished locking up, and then went 
to my room. He must have waited outside 
for about five minutes, sir, for it was fully 
that long before I heard Mr. King’s car pull 
away from the house.” 

“Weren’t you suspicious then?” asked 
Fenwick? 

“No, sir. There have been so many strange 


THE TWELFTH HOUK 141 

happenings lately that I’m afraid to question 
anything that occurs.” 

Willmer dropped into a chair weakly, moist¬ 
ening his lips. 

“Did this man really call on you, Mr. Will¬ 
mer?” asked Corson. 

“No,” murmured the financier faintly. 

“Do you know anything about him, Bell?” 

“Not a thing,” responded Fenwick. 

“I shall not compel Mr. King to lie by ask¬ 
ing him the same question,” announced Cor¬ 
son. “It is logical to conclude that the man 
who allowed him to escape is the man he came 
to see.” 

“Thoughtful of you,” rejoined King, “but 
I’m not tremendously interested in gaining 
your good opinion. I am accountable to my 
partner for my actions, however, and feel that 
the occasion demands that I register a denial 
in his presence. Mr. Willmer, to my knowl¬ 
edge I never saw this man until I found him 
in possession of my car at the Grand Central 
this morning.” 

“That is all that is necessary, Otis,” advised 
Willmer. “I believe you, my boy.” 

“You are too gullible, Mr. Willmer,” 
warned Corson. “The fellow who escaped 


142 


VOICES 


knows something about Pendleton Kirke’s 
death and is undoubtedly the owner of one 
of the voices.” 

“I should like to ask Riggs,” piped up Boy- 
den, “whether this Eyetalian talked with a 
foreign accent when he was leavin’ the house 
this morning?” 

“No, sir, he did not,” answered Riggs re¬ 
spectfully. “He talked as well as you or I.” 

“Did you make a search to see if he took 
anything?” persisted the little man. 

“Yes, sir. I am quite sure nothing is miss- 

• 

mg. 

“That will do, Riggs, unless the gentlemen 
have some other questions to ask,” advised 
Lorraine. Both Corson and Fenwick indi¬ 
cated that they had no desire to question him 
further, and Riggs withdrew. The girl 
turned to her guardian. 

“I have been of assistance, haven’t I?” she 
asked. 

“Yes, my child; you have shown me that 
the voices have intruded on the privacy of my 
home. I am not safe anywhere. I am going 
to my den.” 

He raised himself feebly from the chair and 
walked slowly to the door, where he hesitated. 


THE TWELFTH HOUR 143 


“Bell,” he said, as if deliberately to snub 
Corson, “I am relying on you. You prom¬ 
ised to clear this matter up within forty-eight 
hours. You ’ve been on the case twelve hours. 
If you can prevent further startling develop¬ 
ments during the next thirty-six, and can 
end this devilish business, I may be able to 
live through it. Do your best, will you?” 

“I will, of course,” assured Fenwick. “The 
case was mysterious enough when I took it, 
but the developments of the last twelve hours 
have been extremely so. Each new occurrence, 
however, despite the element of mystery, has 
contributed to the support of a general theory 
I have formed. I am more than pleased at 
the progress I have made, and expect to have 
a satisfactory solution of the whole affair very 
soon. In the mean time I can positively as¬ 
sure you that there is not the slightest chance 
of any one doing you physical injury.” 

“I am not so sure,” commented Willmer, 
turning on his heel and slowly making his way 
up-stairs. 

“You are very reassuring, Mr. Bell,” ob¬ 
served Lorraine gratefully. “If I thought 
Mr. Willmer was really in danger, I would 
urge you to plead with him to give up th§ 


144 


VOICES 


fight. I imagine it is all a question of money, 
and he has so much more than he needs.” 

“You are suggesting that he buy off the 
voices?” asked Fenwick, 

She nodded. 

“What if a principle is at stake?” she in¬ 
quired defensively. “Mr. Willmer’s happi¬ 
ness and peace of mind are worth a great deal, 
not only to him, but to others. If I felt for 
a moment that the voices were responsible for 
Mr. Kirke’s death, I would for ever reproach 
myself for not having urged my employer to 
give in. How much it would have meant to 
Olive and to Mrs. Kirke if money could have 
prevented this tragedy!” 

“Feminine logic,” commented Corson. 
“Willmer’s a big man—the kind who will 
fight for a principle. He realizes the duty he 
owes to society, and will not encourage black¬ 
mail. Despite his discourtesy to me, I ad¬ 
mire him for the stand he has taken.” 

“You do not read character well, Mr. Cor¬ 
son,” disagreed the girl. “From my knowl¬ 
edge of the triumvirate, I would say that the 
only member of it genuinely interested in 
ethics and willing to fight for a principle is in 
this room. Next to him I should place Mr. 


THE TWELFTH HOUR 145 


Kirke. As for Mr. Willmer, he would wage 
war to the bitter end, not because character 
and right were involved, but because of money. 
Wealth is his god. I do not consider it dis¬ 
loyal to him to acquaint you with these facts. 
It is his one big human failing. In every¬ 
thing else he is a superman.” 

“But Mr. Willmer is quite a philanthro¬ 
pist,” protested Corson. 

“Not at all,” Lorraine advised. “The 
triumvirate supports certain worthy charities, 
and Messrs. King and Kirke often made con¬ 
tributions from their personal funds. Mr. 
Willmer never did. This information is not 
public property, and I trust you will regard 
it as confidential. It seemed my duty to ac¬ 
quaint you with it. If you fail to relieve the 
situation in any other way, I think you should 
persuade Mr. Willmer that his only hope lies 
in negotiating with the voices and buying 
them off.” 

“It is my opinion that we should begin bar¬ 
gaining at once,” announced Corson, “but not 
in good faith. Such tactics eventually lead 
to some sort of contact with the culprits and 
often afford an opportunity to take them into 
custody.” 


146 


VOICES 


“I fear you underestimate the ability of this 
gang, chief,” observed Fenwick. “Just post¬ 
pone the operation of that plan for another 
day, and give me a chance to work out my 
own theory.” 

Corson shrugged his shoulders. 

“What do you think, Otis?” asked Lor¬ 
raine. 

“You Ve probably given Mr. Bell informa¬ 
tion about Mr. Willmer which he should have 
had long ago,” agreed King. “Now that he 
has it he should be given an opportunity to use 
it. The voices have been acquainted with 
every move we have made. They will merely 
laugh at the notion of bargaining along the 
lines suggested by Mr. Corson, if I am a 
judge.” 

“You appear to have rather definite infor¬ 
mation as to their reactions,” Corson pointed 
out caustically. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” retorted King. 
“Is n’t it your theory that I sing tenor in their 
quartet?” 

“Don’t tease, Otis,” begged Lorraine. 
“Why don’t you tell the inspector all you 
know and cooperate with him.” 

“I’m perfectly willing to, Lorraine, in all 


THE TWELFTH HOUR 147 

that immediately concerns the subject we are 
discussing. The inspector refuses to cooper¬ 
ate, however, since he will not permit me 
to draw the line between what I know to be 
pertinent and what is not.” 

“Oh, you men!” exclaimed Lorraine, per¬ 
plexed. She left the room. 

“What do you think about Nick telling 
Riggs he was from the telephone company?” 
asked Corson. 

Fenwick smiled. 

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he admit¬ 
ted. “Of course, it was an explanation that 
Riggs would be very likely to accept, in view 
of recent occurrences, and Nick undoubtedly 
knew this. On the other hand the statement 
may warrant further investigation. Seth, 
I’m going to leave it to you to discover 
whether or not Nick is or ever was a telephone 
man. Get busy.” 

“Right,” assented Seth, who had listened in¬ 
tently to the entire conversation. “As it says 
in the fifth chapter of Ezra, verse fifteen, 
‘Search may be made in the book of the rec¬ 
ords.’ I ’ll start right away.” 

“And, Seth,” continued Fenwick as the lit¬ 
tle man started from the room, “tell that 


148 VOICES 

Riverside wire-chief to get busy on the volt¬ 
meter test if he has n’t already done so.’’ 

“Very well,” agreed Boyden. 

“Where does Boyden have to go?” queried 
Corson. 

“Riverside central office on West Eighty- 
ninth Street first,” advised Fenwick. “Then 
he may have to go to the central testing bu¬ 
reau on West Fifty-eighth Street, and perhaps 
to the headquarters building on Dey Street.” 

“Perhaps Mr. King would drive him down 
in the car,” suggested the inspector. “It 
would save a lot of time.” 

“Gladly,” consented King. 

“If you ’ll come back here you may be able 
to assist me,” Corson advised. 

“Never fear,” responded the young finan¬ 
cier. “I ’ll be back. I have n’t the slightest 
reason for running away.” 

“A millionaire can’t run away, Mr. King.” 

“Oh, so you know that, too, do you?” smiled 
King understanding^, as he left with Boy¬ 
den. 

As the pair left the house Fenwick quickly 
turned to Corson. 

“You wanted to get rid of King,” he ac¬ 
cused. “Why?” 


THE TWELFTH HOUR 149 

“I wanted to talk to you about him. We 
rode down from the Grand Central in his car. 
We were crowded; it’s one of those speed- 
buggies. Nick sat on my knee, and Boy den 
rode on the running-board, while King drove. 
Nick had an excellent opportunity to whisper 
to King, and took advantage of it. King’s 
manner changed from that moment, and, 
while he endeavored to assume his usual atti¬ 
tude of bored indifference, I could see that 
he was worried. I’d give anything to know 
what Nick said to him.” 

“Interesting,” commented Fenwick, non¬ 
committally. 

Corson regarded him with disgust. 

“Is that all you have to say?” he demanded. 

“That’s all,” smiled Charlie. “I’m not go¬ 
ing to venture the opinion that King is one of 
the voices or is directing them. I’m not go¬ 
ing to make a similar statement regarding 
Nick, and I’m quite sure neither of them are 
implicated in Pendleton Kirke’s death. 
You’ve had too many theories, inspector, and 
have had to give each one up in turn as you 
adopted a new one. My theory has assumed 
shape very slowly, but I still find it tenable, 
and I mean to stick to it.” 


150 


VOICES 


4 'When you find it untenable, Charlie, I’m 
going to attempt to dicker with the voices, 
and I ’ll wager I make an arrest.” 

“Good enoughl!” agreed Charlie. “Don’t 
attempt it, however, until my theory is un¬ 
tenable. In the mean time, you ought to de¬ 
vote all your time to solving the mystery of 
Pendleton Kirke’s death.” 

Corson glared at him half savagely. 

“You want me to ask you outright how 
that trick was pulled,” he growled. “Well, 
I’m not going to do it. If you could find 
out, so can I. I’m going back to Newton. 
When King returns tell him to join me at 
Kirke’s place. So-long.” 


CHAPTER XI 

A TRICK THAT FAILED 

F ENWICK remained at the Willmer re¬ 
sidence until King returned with the 
news that Boy den was conferring with certain 
plant-department supervisors of the telephone 
company in an endeavor to identify Nick as a 
telephone man. 

“Corson wants you to go out to New¬ 
ton,” said Charlie. 

“The estimable Mr. Corson does not al¬ 
ways get what he wants,” commented King. 
“I have things to do at Forest Hills, and if 
he’d like to see me he may call at my home. 
Have you lunched?” 

“No; I ’ve been waiting to deliver Corson’s 

message to you and have n’t heard a word 

about luncheon from Riggs.” 

King consulted his watch. 

“One o’clock. Why not run down to the 

Ibis Club with me? Things are more or less 

confused about this establishment just now, 

151 


152 


VOICES 


and the usual daily routine has apparently 
been disturbed. Will you join me?” 

Fenwjck assented, and after acquainting 
Riggs with their plans the two men drove to 
the famous and exclusive club-house in King’s 
car. Despite the fact that King was the jun¬ 
ior member of the triumvirate, he appeared to 
be regarded with considerable deference and 
respect by the geniuses of finance who fre¬ 
quented the club. 

“That big, homely-looking chap with the 
•small, twinkling eyes is Vandermill, presi¬ 
dent of the Union Reserve Bank,” informed 
King. “The others at his table are Worthen- 
berg, who controls most of the South American 
copper output; Bates, the automobile man; 
and Hill, the head of the moving-picture in¬ 
dustry. If Mr. Willmer were lunching here 
to-day, and saw those four with their heads 
together, he would tell you what was brewing 
financially in much the same manner that you 
deduce significant things from telephone calls. 
I’ve heard him make predictions of that na¬ 
ture on many occasions, and in two or 
three days the newspapers would confirm 
them.” 

“I can easily understand that,” nodded 


A TRICK THAT FAILED 153 

Fenwick. “In spite of the unfavorable and 
abnormal conditions of my contact with Mr. 
Willmer, I have seen enough of him to know 
that his is an unusual mind. To follow a 
generally accepted theory, that mind was 
given to him as compensation for some less de¬ 
sirable quality. I have been trying to identify 
the negative quality and had almost decided 
that it was cowardice when Miss Carewe pro¬ 
ceeded to shed some light on it this morning. 

“I understand from her remarks that your 
partner is a potential miser. Such at least 
is her interpretation of certain of his actions 
and reactions. While I do not entirely sub¬ 
scribe to it, I have concluded that the proper 
diagnosis of Mr. Willmer’s trouble, failing, 
or what you will, is a combination of my 
theory and Miss Care we’s.” 

“You’ve hit it!” exclaimed King enthu¬ 
siastically. “You’ve expressed it remark¬ 
ably well, too. What you mean, I take it, 
is that Willmer is not a miser to the extent 
of being parsimonious, or a coward to the ex¬ 
tent of fearing to take chances. You don’t 
think, for instance, that he would lament if 
he lost a gigantic wad in some legitimate ven¬ 
ture. You believe, however, that he fears 


154 


VOICES 


losing part or all of his resources in some man¬ 
ner which will give him no chance at all.” 

“Precisely. At the same time I must con¬ 
gratulate you on your very apt description 
of my new theory.” 

A very efficient waiter took their orders and 
served them with remarkable promptness. 
During the luncheon King pointed out vari¬ 
ous club members of national and interna¬ 
tional prominence, the young criminologist 
listening and observing with unusual inter¬ 
est. 

“If you are successful in this case,” King 
predicted, “Willmer will find you half a 
dozen clients among the men in this room.” 

“Detective agency work,” commented 
Fenwick. “You forget that I’m a wire- 
chief. I have n’t time for the cases requir¬ 
ing endless investigations, shadowing, and 
the other stereotyped police methods. Of 
course, I never refuse any case that interests 
me, but when I accept one I try to do my 
investigating and shadowing by telephone.” 

“To say nothing of recovering jewels!” 
boomed a huge voice behind Fenwick. “Char¬ 
lie Fenwick, as I live, and with Otis King, 
too!” 


A TRICK THAT FAILED 155 

Charlie turned, to find Diamond Jim Ord- 
way at his elbow. The millionaire whose pen¬ 
chant for jewelry had earned him wide pub¬ 
licity placed a hand affectionately on Fen¬ 
wick’s shoulder. 

“How do you do, sir!” greeted Fenwick, 
somewhat pleasurably embarrassed. “My 
name happens to be John Bell, and I’d thank 
you not to call me by any other for the pres¬ 
ent. I trust that you had no further trouble 
safe-guarding your famous collection.” 

“None, my boy, since you saved it for me. 
So your name is John Bell. Have I put my 
foot into it generally? I hope King isn’t 
your quarry?” 

“Not a bit of it,” protested King. “At 
least, not to my knowledge. Perhaps IVe 
merely deluded myself into the belief that Bell 
has been retained by me.” 

“Well, if he’s working for you, let me pre¬ 
dict right now that your troubles are ended 
when this wizard of the wires takes the trail. 
You promised to call on me whenever you 
came to the big town,” he reminded Fenwick 
reproachfully. “Have you forgotten?” 

“I have not, sir, and, while I’m tremen¬ 
dously busy, I Ve been meaning to look you 


156 


VOICES 


up. My visit will not be purely social,” he 
warned. “I’m going to ask you to help me 
with something.” 

“Delighted!” assured Ordway. “I owe 
you anything you may ask for. Drop in at 
my office to-morrow before four o’clock.” 

‘T 11 do that,” Fenwick assured him. 

Diamond Jim shook hands with the two and 
departed. 

“I had forgotten that you knew at least 
one of our members,” observed King. “You 
made Ordway your friend for life when you 
recovered his jewels.” 

“I wish he had n’t been so noisily cordial,” 
frowned Charlie, as he noted the interested 
glances leveled in his direction and the whis¬ 
pered comment at other tables. 

“So do I,” muttered King. “All the finan¬ 
cial world will know that Fenwick is on the 
job.” 

A uniformed page stopped at the table and 
addressed King. 

“Your guest, Mr. Bell, is wanted on the 
telephone,” he advised. 

Fenwick arose and followed the boy to a 
booth. 

“Bell speaking,” he announced. 


A TRICK THAT FAILED 157 

“This is Willmer, Bell. Lorraine received 
a message from the Camerons at South 
Orange shortly after you left. It seemed 
rather urgent, and she left immediately. I 
telephoned the Camerons, asking them to have 
Her call me as soon as she arrived, and learned 
that the message purporting to come from 
them was bogus. There’s some deviltry 
afoot, and I thought it best to let you know 
at once.’’ 

“You want me to follow her out to Jersey?” 
asked Fenwick. 

“I think it best; don’t you?” 

“Undoubtedly. I ’ll start right away.” 

“Good enough. Bring her back with you if 
you can.” 

Fenwick hung up the receiver and returned 
to the table, where he advised King of the 
nature of the conversation. The young man’s 
face paled, and he jumped to his feet. 

“So they ’re after Lorraine now,” he mut¬ 
tered. “Let’s not delay. We can motor out, 
and by breaking a few speed laws we ’ll save 
time. Come along.” 

“Just a moment, Mr. King,” protested 
Fenwick. “I have n’t finished my story. 
Miss Carewe is in no danger, or, if she is, it 


158 


VOICES 


is n’t in South Orange. I’m never fooled 
twice where a voice is concerned. The man 
who just pretended to be Willmer is the one 
who impersonated him when Nick escaped to¬ 
day.” 

“But—why—er—are you sure?” demanded 
King, entirely at sea. / 

“Positive,” assured Charlie. “Some one is 
interested in getting us out of the way. We 
might verify the story in a few minutes by 
telephoning Willmer, but he would be unwill¬ 
ing to answer the telephone, and we’d only 
lose time. Drive back to Willmer’s right 
away.” 

King signed the check, and the two has¬ 
tened to the waiting car. It was merely a mat¬ 
ter of minutes before they halted at the River¬ 
side Drive mansion. As Riggs admitted them 
they caught a glimpse of Lorraine Carewe as 
she passed out of sight at the head of the 
staircase. King whistled softly. 

“By Jove! You were right,” he averred. 

“Where’s Mr. Willmer, Riggs?” demanded 
-Fenwick. 

“He’s sitting in an easy-chair in his den, 
sir, fast asleep. His revolver is beside him 
on the table. I’ve been reluctant about ap- 



A TRICK THAT FAILED 159 

proaching him, sir, and, besides, the sleep will 
do him good. He’s slept for two hours.” 

“And Miss Carewe?” 

Riggs lowered his voice in replying. 

“Something is worrying her, sir. A ragged 
urchin called about the time you left, and in¬ 
sisted on seeing Mr. Bell. He refused to 
leave, so I called Miss Lorraine. I did n’t 
hear what was said, but she gave the boy some 
money and he left. She’s been busy with a 
pencil and some scraps of paper ever since, 
sir, and, as I just informed you, seems 
troubled.” 

“Thank you, Riggs. Come along, Mr. 
King.” 

The two rushed up the stairs and halted at 
the library door. Lorraine sat at the large 
table, her brows furrowed, and regarded with 
perplexity an uninviting scrap of paper and 
an envelope. She sighed with relief as she 
looked up and beheld Fenwick. 

“Do come here, Mr. Bell,” she begged. 
“I’ve been worried to death, and I fear I’ve 
transgressed on the social niceties by opening 
your mail. A boy brought this envelope to 
the house about two hours ago. It’s Mr. 
Boy den’s writing, isn’t it? You see, I re- 


160 


VOICES 


member it from the list of telephone-numbers 
I reviewed with him.” 

Fenwick took the proffered envelope. It 
was extremely dirty and appeared to have 
been trod upon by muddy boots. Beneath 
the defacing marks he could decipher, in Boy- 
den’s familiar scrawl, the words: 

$10 reward for delivery of this envelope to Mr. 
John Bell, - Riverside Drive, New York City. 

“A boy brought it,” advised Lorraine. “I 
paid him, and, as it seemed to hint of danger, 
I opened it. This was inside.” 

The scrap of paper she handed him had evi¬ 
dently been torn from a wall. On it was 
scrawled with the stub of a pencil the follow¬ 
ing cryptic communication: 

Tbl Under Gd. in Y. Hs. E. 13. Bet. Sch. and 
Pk x G.B.Ax D.C. without E K and Auto x Pty we 
are L K is on G x Inc. B|W Str. and Aly x Dpd. Ltr. 
O. Rd. x Pay Mg. Chgs. 

“What do you make of it?” asked Fenwick, 
addressing Lorraine. 

“Nothing at all,” she confessed. “It ’$— 



A TRICK THAT FAILED 161 


it’s sort of terrifying. Some sort of a code, 
is n’t it?” 

“Probably. Nothing to worry about, at 
any rate. Mr. King and I will go over it 
and try to decipher it. Any new develop¬ 
ments?” 

“Two calls from the voices, asking for Mr. 
Willmer. I answered, and got rid of them 
without disturbing Mr. Willmer, who is still 
sleeping. One call was from a man of appar¬ 
ent refinement and education, but was the 
most sinister of any I have heard since we 
were first annoyed. The other was a drawl¬ 
ing, masculine voice, exceedingly English in 
tone, enunciation, and vocabulary.” 

“They refused to enter into extended con¬ 
versation with you, I presume?” 

She nodded confirmation. 

“Did you receive a message of any kind 
from the Camerons of South Orange?” 

“No. Why do you ask?” 

“I was advised that you had. It’s of no 
consequence, however. Mr. King and I have 
an errand to do. If you receive any more 
calls while we are away, try to make the con¬ 
versations as extended as possible. One 


162 


VOICES 


chance slip may betray one of the voices and 
solve our whole problem.” 

Miss Carewe walked up to Fenwick, an ap¬ 
pealing, worried look in her eyes. 

“You are not fooling me one bit, Mr. 
Bell,” she announced. “Mr. Boy den is in 
grave danger, and you are going to try to 
help him. Your manner, when you examined 
his note, told me as much. I’m sorry—truly 
sorry. He ’s a quaint, whimsical, good old 
man, and I ’ve learned to like him. Can’t I 
be of some assistance? Take me with you; I 
may be able to help.” 

“You can help best,” advised Fenwick, “by 
remaining here. It would n’t do to leave Mr. 
Willmer with no one but the servants. Seth 
is in trouble, but he has apparently established 
the first real contact with the voices. I hope 
to bring him back with me, and to obtain some 
definite information from him which will aid 
us materially. You take care of Mr. Will¬ 
mer. ” 

“Very well,” she asserted, but not without 
showing her disappointment. She gripped 
King’s arm. “Be very careful, Otis,” she 
pleaded. “Don’t take any foolish risks. 


A TRICK THAT FAILED 163 


You, too, Mr. Bell,” she added, in a very ob¬ 
vious afterthought. 

“You ’re growing positively melodramatic. 
Lorry,” protested King. Fenwick winced at 
the use of the affectionate diminutive. “That 
confounded note has upset you. Best forget 
it. I’m sure I don’t know what it’s all 
about, but if Bell is off after big game I’m 
with him. We ’ll bring you home a trophy. 
Good-by for a bit.” 

She watched them from an upper window 
as they drove off in King’s car. 

“Where to?” inquired Otis. 

“East Thirteenth Street.” 

“When do we decipher Boyden’s message?” 

“I have decoded it. He merely used a 
standard code of abbreviations observed by all 
telephone companies in recording information 
on trouble-reports and toll-tickets. It was 
quite ingeniously put together, however. 
I ’ll read it to you.” He produced the scrap 
of wall paper and read: 

“Trouble. Under guard in yellow house East 
Thirteenth, between school and park. Get better 
address. Don’t come without emergency key and 
automatic—or automobile. Party we are looking 


164 


VOICES 


for is on ground. Incoming both ways, street and 
alley. Dropped letter open road. Pay messenger 
charges.” 

“Intelligible in spots,” commented King. 
“Interpret the whole thing, if you don’t mind.” 

“It’s plain enough,” explained Fenwick. 
“Boyden is being held a prisoner by Nick in 
a yellow house on East Thirteenth Street, 
somewhere between a school and a park. He 
asks me to bring a skeleton-key so that we can 
be sure of gaining entrance. He also sug¬ 
gests that we attempt entrance simultaneously 
by a street door and by another leading from 
a side or rear alley. ‘Auto’ is an abbrevia¬ 
tion for ‘automobile,’ and also for ‘automatic.’ 
We are bringing both. He dropped the mes¬ 
sage out of a window on the chance of some 
one delivering it, and requests that we pay 
the promised reward to the messenger.” 

“Sounds quite reasonable,” agreed King. 
“Do you know East Thirteenth Street?” 

“No,” confessed Fenwick. 

“Well, I know how to get there, but I 
have n’t an idea of the location of this park 
and school.” 

They rode in silence for a time, and, as they 
turned a corner, King announced: “This is 


A TRICK THAT FAILED 165 

it. Not particularly vicious-looting, either. 
Three yellow houses on this block, and a total 
absence of schools and parks.” 

“Looks like a school about two blocks 
down,” indicated Fenwick. 

“Right-o—and just beyond it at the next 
corner is a tiny park. The fifth house from 
the school, I should judge.” 

He halted in front of the ancient dwelling, 
a two-story frame affair which had once been 
painted yellow. The weather had taken its 
toll, however, and only an optimist would have 
described the house by that color. 

“There’s an alley of sorts at the side of the 
house,” whispered King. 

Fenwick nodded and thrust an automatic 
revolver into the financier’s hand. 

“Go around to the alley door and bang on 
it with your fist,” he commanded. “If any 
one answers, pretend you wish to purchase the 
property, and keep up a conversation. I ’ll 
get in the front way, in the mean time.” 

They parted, and Fenwick ran up the five 
steps from the sidewalk. Not until then did 
he notice a “House to Let” sign at the side 
of the door, directly over an electric push¬ 
button. He pulled a key-ring from his 


166 


VOICES 


pocket, made a hasty selection, and fitted a 
key into the lock. It opened immediately. 
Leaving the door ajar, he walked through the 
uncarpeted hallway, glancing into rooms to 
the right and left. The house was apparently 
unoccupied. As he retracted his steps to a 
stairway leading to the second floor, he could 
hear King knocking on the side door. 

He ascended the stairs and pushed open the 
first door he encountered. The room was sim¬ 
ply but tastefully furnished with painted fur¬ 
niture, but was somewhat untidy. Peering in, 
he beheld his assistant gagged and bound to 
a small iron cot. He dashed to Seth’s side 
and, whipping out a knife, released him. 

“Phew!” exclaimed Seth, spitting out the 

gag- 

“Nick? Where is he?” demanded Fen¬ 
wick. 

‘ Boyden shook his head slowly. 

“Gone. No need o’ rushing.” He rubbed 
his arms and legs to restore circulation, and 
then walked stiffly up and down the room. 
Stopping in front of a door he threw it open 
and revealed a small clothes-closet. 

“Jest look in there,” he invited. 


A TRICK THAT FAILED 167 

Fenwick did. Attached to the wall were 
two telephone sets. 

“Those are n’t Bell system telephones,” 
commented Fenwick. “Stromberg-Carlson 
equipment.” 

“Yep. And Heaven knows whose lines 
they are hooked up to. Mr. James Cartier, 
alias Nick Napolielo, is a telephone man, and 
then some! Who’s that knockin’?” 

“Otis King. I ’ll go down and let him in.” 

He ran down the stairs and soon returned 
with King. The two seated themselves on 
the cot, while Boy den continued to walk the 
floor, a look of unutterable disgust and cha¬ 
grin upon his face. 

“This looks like an artist’s studio,” ob¬ 
served King, glancing about. 

“Do tell!” returned Seth. “Well, jest let 
me tell you he’s an artist. And he’s a col¬ 
lege man! But, most of all, he’s a telephone 
man! 

“How about the voices, Seth?” queried Fen¬ 
wick. 

“He’s one o’ the gang—no doubt about it! 
Why, he takes his orders from the boss o’ the 
hull bunch!” 


168 


VOICES 


“And he put it all over you, did n’t he, 
Seth?” murmured Charlie, sympathetically. 

“Kiddin’ me?” demanded Seth, much ag¬ 
grieved. “Mark sixteen sixteen!” 

Fenwick roared with laughter until Boy- 
den grinned. 

“That’s the way Seth swears,” Fenwick ad¬ 
vised King. “He tells me that the sixteenth 
chapter of Mark, sixteenth verse, contains the 
words ‘Be damned.’ ” 

King joined in the laugh. 

“Now that you’ve announced the text,” he 
said, gravely, “suppose you give us the whole 
sermon.” 


CHAPTER XII 

SETHIS ADVENTURE 

“ jK FTER you left me,” began Seth, nod- 
jlV ding toward King, “I trotted around the 
plant department from one supervisor to an¬ 
other, describin’ Nick Napolielo and askin’ 
questions about him. Finally I run into a 
chap named Rogers who bossed a bunch of 
installers.” 

“ T know him,’ sez Rogers. 'Jimmy Car- 
tier ’s his name.’ 

“Rogers then proceeds to describe him in 
more details and pertiklers ’n I could ever 
hope to. He said that Cartier was the best 
installer that ever worked for the company. 
He had formerly been employed as a combi¬ 
nation man by a small independent company 
in the West. He was better educated than 
any installer that ever happened, and Rogers 
had an idea that he could have written E.E. 
after his name if he wanted to.” 

“What’s E.E.?” demanded King. 

169 


170 


VOICES 


“Electrical engineer,” replied Boyden. 
“Rogers said that Cartier gave all sorts of evi¬ 
dences of good bringin’ up, but he was no snob, 
and was well liked by the men he worked with. 
He was quite an entertainer, bein’ a good 
mimic, and very often he would keep the 
crowd laughin’ by imitatin’ some foreigner he 
had encountered in his day’s work. He could 
handle almost any kind o’ dialect, and Rogers 
says it was a real treat to hear him imitate an 
Italian tenor singin’ an operatic tune. 

“ ‘Why did he leave the company?’ I 
asked. 

“ ‘We don’t know,’ sez Rogers. ‘He called 
up one day an’ said he was through. I asked 
if he was dissatisfied or had gotten a better 
job, but he just kidded me along without 
tellin’ me a thing. That’s the last we ever 
heard of him.” 

“ ‘Where did he do most of his installin’?’ 
I asked. 

“ ‘Riverside, Melrose, ’n’ Tremont,’ sez 
Rogers. 

“I hustled down to the pay-roll department 
on Dey Street and looked up his record. Got 
his badge-number, address, ’n’ everything. 
Then I telephoned around a bit, and purty 


SETH’S ADVENTURE 


171 


soon I found out he had made installations of 
extension-stations at Warren Willmer’s 
place! 

“Ye c’n imagine how tickled I was. Rog¬ 
ers had told me that the feller could imitate 
almost any dialect, an’ the voices talked in all 
sorts o’ dialects. He had been in Willmer’s 
home a number o’ times. We were lookin’ for 
an ex-telephone man. 

“I went to the address the pay-roll people 
gave me. It was a furnished-room house on 
West Fourteenth Street. The lady who ran 
it told me that Cartier had n’t lived there for 
six months. She did n’t know his new ad¬ 
dress, ’ceptin’ that it was on East Thirteenth 
Street, but she said her boy had been there a 
couple o’ times. I got her to call the kid in, 
and he guided me here. I handed him a dol¬ 
lar, told him to make himself scarce, and then 
I looked over the ground. 

“There wa’n’t any signs of life, so I tried 
one o’ my keys on the front door and got in 
without any trouble. Looked over the hull 
first floor and found it vacant. Then I come 
up here and opened that there door. I 
thought I heard voices, but there was no one 
in sight, so I started to poke around. All of 


172 


VOICES 


a sudden some one grabbed me from behind, 
tossed me on the bed, an’ sat on me.” 

King chuckled and Fenwick grinned, while 
Boyden glared at them savagely. 

“When ye git serious again, I ’ll go on,” he 
announced with dignity. 

“That’s right, Seth; sit on us. You ’re en¬ 
titled to; Nick sat on you.” 

Fenwick’s good nature could n’t be denied, 
and Seth smiled, too, evidently mollified. 

“I looked up and saw Nick; but it was a 
different Nick. He wore decent clothes and 
was clean and attractive-lookin’. 

“ ‘So we meet again, Mr. Boyden,’ sez he. 
‘You ’re a fast worker. Will ye behave if I 
let ye sit up ?’ 

“He weighs about one hundred and sixty 
pounds so it wa’n’t any use in resistin’ him. 
I nodded; so he got up, went over to the door, 
turned a key in the lock, and put it in his 
pocket. 

“ ‘If you had called a little later,’ sez he, 
‘you’d have missed me. I’m movin’ to-day. 
Ye might as well set around ’n’ visit with me 
until I finish packin’. What c’n I do fer 
you?’ 

“I told him I’d like him to come back to 


SETH’S ADVENTURE 173 

Warren Willmer’s fer dinner this evening, 
but he jest laughed.” 

“ ‘Sorry/ he said, ‘but I must plead a pre¬ 
vious engagement.’ 

“Then his manner changed entirely. 

“ ‘I don’t know where you fit in, old man/ 
he announced, ‘but you’d better get out or 
the voices will get you. If you or Corson or 
the rest of your gang have any sense they ’ll 
quit and advise Willmer to come across. Did 
you ever hear the story of the darky and the 
whip ?’ 

“I told him I had n’t. 

“ ‘Well,’ he sez, ‘there was a darky drivin’ 
a team o’ mules along a country road, an’ a 
country parson begged a ride. The nigger 
had a whip with a long lash on it, an’ every 
time a fly lighted on a mule’s ear he would 
flick it off. The parson commented on the ac¬ 
curacy with which, he used the whip, and, 
pointing out a leaf on the end of a branch 
which they were approachin’, asked him to 
flick it off. The darky did so. A few min¬ 
utes later the parson pointed out a hornets’ 
nest in a tree and requested a further demon¬ 
stration of accuracy with the whip. The 
driver refused. 


174 VOICES 

“ 4 “I ’ll flick a fly off a mule’s ear, sah,” he 
said, “an’ I ’ll flick a leaf off a tree—but a 
hornets’ nest! Lordy, man, a hornets’ nest 
is a organization” * 

“ ‘Well?’ sez I. 

“ ‘Well,’ answers Cartier, ‘jest keep in mind 
that the voices are a organization!’ 

“I did n’t answer him but jest sat here on 
the bed watchin’, as he went around the room 
gatherin’ up articles an’ puttin’ ’em in a little 
pile on the floor. He kept hummin’ all the 
time, an’ he certainly has got a fine voice. 

“ ‘Where’d you spring from when you 
jumped on me?’ I asked him. 

“He threw open that closet door an’ pointed 
within. 

“ ‘I was in there telephonin’ when you en¬ 
tered,’ sez he; ‘so I jest opened the door a crack 
and waited until you were in a good position 
fer me to surprise you. Come take a look.’ 

“I accepted the invitation, and discovered 
those non-standard telephones hooked up to 
the wall, and a couple o’ telephone directories 
hangin’ f’m a hook. 

“ ‘Stealin’ service?’ I asked him. 

“ ‘Yep,’ he admits cheerfully. ‘Got to, in 
this line o’ business.’ 



175 


SETH’S ADVENTURE 

‘Are those sets with battery?’ I inquired. 

“ ‘Nope,’ he answers frankly. ‘I can’t ring 
the persons I call without central’s assistance.’ 

“I imagined from his manner that he knew 
what I was drivin’ at, but he didn’t say a 
word. 

“ ‘You’d do better stickin’ to the telephone 
business or goin’ on the stage,’ I told him. 

“ ‘Thanks, awfully,’ he sez. 

“Among the things he was pilin’ up on the 
floor were a lot of installers’ tools, some books 
and papers, and some phonograph-records. 
As he added a pair of five-and-a-half-inch 
diagonal pliers to the heap I asked him what 
he called them. 

“ ‘Cutters,’ he informed me. 

“ ‘How long since you left Ithaca?’ I shot 
at him. 

“ ‘ ’Bout five years,’ he answers, and then 
bites his lip. 

“‘You never worked for a Western com¬ 
pany,’ sez I. ‘Over in Jersey they call those 
pliers “dials.” Out in the country they say 
“snips.” In New York City they call ’em 
“Swedes,” but Ithaca is the only place on the 
map where they call ’em “cutters.” ’ 

“ ‘Clever enough,’ he concedes. ‘ ’Tain’t 


176 


VOICES 


no use concealin’ my home anyway. I ’ll be 
miles f’m here in a few hours. You must have 
had loads of experience in the telephone game 
to be so expert in the argot. What names do 
you know for the support used in raising 
poles?’ 

“Ithaca calls it a “corpse”; in Long Is¬ 
land it’s a “dead man”; in Manhattan-Bronx 
and in Buffalo it’s a “stiff,” while in Bingham¬ 
ton it’s a “stiff leg.” 

“ ‘Right,’ sez he. ‘You ’re a dyed-in-the- 
wool telephone man. Care to look at a news¬ 
paper while you ’re waiting?’ 

“He took one from his coat-pocket and 
handed it to me. 

“ ‘My eyes are poorly,’ I lied. 

“ ‘Set over by the window, where you ’ll 
get more light,’ he suggests. 

“I did so, but I punched a hole through the 
paper with a lead-pencil so I could watch him 
while I pretended to read. He pulled a 
couple o’ suit-cases out o’ the closet and started 
to pack the stuff on the floor into them. 
When I got a chance I tore a loose piece of 
paper off the wall over there, and shielded be¬ 
hind the newpaper I wrote my note to you 
in code, 


SETH’S ADVENTURE 


177 

“All of a sudden he got up and went to one 
o’ the ’phones in the closet. I could n’t hear 
what number he called, because I was busy 
searching my pockets for an envelope. I 
found an old one, addressed it, and sealed my 
note up in it. Then, without turnin’ around, I 
pushed the window up about half an inch and 
flipped the envelope out on the sidewalk. 
Puttin’ the window down again, I was ready 
to pay some attention to Cartier’s telephone- 
call. 

“‘Ibis Club?’ he was sayin’. ‘Well, that 
means they ’ll probably be back. If you can 
get them out of town for half a day, I ’ll 
guarantee that the equipment will be safe from 
detection. Get one of the gang to call up the 
club, and send Bell and King off on a wild- 
goose chase. I ’ll take care of Corson and 
Boyden. Yes, boss; you can positively rely 
on me to do as I say. Good-by.’ 

“With that he hangs up the receiver and 
comes back to his suit-cases. As soon as he 
finishes packing he puts on his hat and comes 
over to me. 

“ ‘I don’t want to be unnecessarily rough,’ 
he sez; ‘but I’m afraid I ’ll have to ask you 
to submit to bein’ temporarily disconnected. 


178 


VOICES 


I mean bound an’ gagged,’ he explained. 

“I didn’t stand no chance with him, so I 
figgered discretion to be the better part of 
valor. He sure bound me up shipshape, 
windin’ up by lashin’ me to the cot here. All 
the time he was doin’ it he kept up a runnin’ 
fire o’ conversation. 

“ ‘Tell those dime-novel sleuths that King 
did n’t know a damn thing about me until he 
saw me in his car at the Grand Central. Tell 
them I put one over on King as we rode up 
in the car. Tell Mr. Bell he’s got a long 
search on his hands. Advise Willmer to give 
up the fight; he doesn’t stand a chance. 
Sorry I can’t take you with me. This is my 
farewell appearance. I ’ll see that you are 
released very soon. Good-by, old man, and 
beware of the voices!’ 

“With that he unlocked the door, and I 
heard him close it after him and run down the 
stairs. I lay here wonderin’ what the chances 
were of my note bein’ delivered. I wrote it 
in our standard code because I didn’t know 
who might get it. I thought you’d never 
come, but here you are.” 

“The amiable Mr. Cartier apparently had 
no thought of harming you, Seth,” commented 


SETH’S ADVENTURE 179 

Eenwick. “What was it you wanted me to 
bring along—an automobile or an automa¬ 
tic?” 

“Both,” responded Boyden. “As you say, 
I don’t think he would have harmed me; but 
I saw a revolver among his belongin’s, and I 
don’t imagine he would have submitted quietly 
if he was threatened with arrest.” 

“You’ve done a fine job, Seth,” compli¬ 
mented Fenwick. “What do you consider 
the high spots in the new information you have 
obtained?” 

Seth beamed at his superior’s praise. 

“Well, sir, in the first place, we’ve learned 
that Nick Napolielo is a very different man 
from what we thought. We’ve learned the 
identity of the feller who is givin’ the voices 
the benefit of his expert knowledge of teleph¬ 
ony. Next, we’ve found out that the gang 
has a leader, and that he ’s keepin’ in touch 
with every move we make. 

‘We’ve also learned that Nick, or Cartier, 
could easily and successfully impersonate half 
a dozen persons over? the telephone. That 
fact leads me to believe that the gang is 
smaller than we had supposed. F’m Car¬ 
tier’s telephone conversation with his boss, we 


180 


VOICES 


know that he must stand pretty close to the 
leader o’ the gang. We also know that they 
are havin’ some trouble with their telephone 
equipment, and that Cartier’s prob’ly takin’ 
care of it right now. I guess that’s about 
ad.” 

“A very fine summary of the facts,” agreed 
jFenwick. “There’s just one thing you’ve 
missed. While King and I were at the Ibis 
Club Mr. Willmer called me up and endeav¬ 
ored to have me go to South Orange, where 
he believed Miss Carewe to have been enticed 
by a bogus message. I knew the voice was 
not Willmer’s, however, so we hurried up the 
Drive and found Miss Carewe at home and 
greatly worried by your code message. 

“The call I received at the club was un¬ 
doubtedly the one you heard Cartier suggest 
over that closet telephone, and the voice I 
heard was the voice of the man who called 
me to-day when Nick escaped from Will¬ 
mer’s. That proves that the gang numbers 
at least one other man who can imitate voices 
fairly creditably over the telephone.” 

“And that reduces the potential size of the 
gang some more,” pointed out Seth. 

“Right. We ’ve seen Cartier, and as his 


181 


SETH’S ADVENTURE 

disguise was very superficial I think any of 
us would know him if we saw him again. The 
important thing, therefore, is to find Cartier, 
and I Ve an idea that we should look for him 
somewhere in the vicinity of Warren Will- 
mer’s home, where he is undoubtedly engaged 
in some sort of telephone activity.” 

The three men were startled by a subdued 
clicking sound emanating from the closet. 

“It’s the telephone,” announced Fenwick, 
making his way to it. “He’s got the bell 
muffled.” 

Lifting the receiver, he murmured “Hello.” 
He could hear two persons in conversation. 

“I’ve gotten the wrong number,” asserted 
a male voice. “Please excuse it and hang 

up.” 

“Very well,” assented a feminine voice; and 
Fenwick heard the click caused by the descend¬ 
ing receiver. The masculine voice resumed 
conversation. 

“Is that you, Bell?” he inquired. 

“Yes. Who is speaking?” 

“Nick Napolielo. Sorry I was n’t at home 
when you called. I hope you released the 
old fellow and found him none the worse for 
his bonds.” 


182 


VOICES 


“He’s all right,” answered Fenwick, puz¬ 
zled and annoyed. “How did you know I was 
here?” 

Cartier chuckled. 

“Boyden thought he dropped that note out 
of the window without my knowledge. When 
I left the house I picked it up, read it, and 
decided to have it delivered. I sent a kid up 
to Wilhner’s with it, with instructions to say 
he had found it. I knew you ’d be able to 
make it out; almost any telephone man or girl 
could have read it. And I did n’t want to 
starve Boyden.” 

“Considerate of you. Anything else?” 

“Yes; just one thing. Use your influence 
to get Willmer to submit, and everything will 
be fine. If you don’t, your conscience is go¬ 
ing to trouble you within forty-eight hours.” 

“That’s a threat,” exclaimed Fenwick. 

*Tt’s not a threat; it’s a promise,” cor¬ 
rected Cartier lightly. “Think it over.” 

Fenwick waited until assured that Cartier 
had hung up his receiver. Reentering the 
room he acquainted King and Boyden with 
the details of the conversation. King was ex¬ 
ceedingly nervous, while Boyden was un¬ 
mistakably chagrined. 


183 


SETH’S ADVENTURE 

“This thing must not continue,” declared 
King firmly. “It’s getting positively un¬ 
canny, supernatural! The most expedient 
thing for us to do is to persuade Willmer to 
submit to the blackmail and have it over 
with.” 

“Willmer will never be persuaded,” pre¬ 
dicted Fenwick. “Furthermore, I don’t like 
the suggestion to come from you.” 

The two young men gazed steadily at each 
other until King’s eyes fell and he flushed un¬ 
comfortably. 

“You’ve been fine, Mr. Fenwick,” he de¬ 
clared sincerely. “You threatened to make 
me an utter outsider when I was placed in an 
embarrassing position to-day, but instead 
you’ve heaped coals of fire on my head by 
letting me in on everything. I can’t how¬ 
ever, understand why you are changing your 
attitude now.” 

“I ’ll tell you, Mr. King,” Fenwick vol¬ 
unteered. “I changed my mind about bar¬ 
ring you from my confidence because I felt 
that you were on the level and would do your 
best to demonstrate it. I know that Cartier 
whispered something to you this morning that 
apparently worried and intimidated you. He 


184 


VOICES 


has advised Boyden that he fooled you. Do 
you care to tell me how?” 

King fidgeted nervously and hesitated. 

“I—I simply can’t!” he announced finally. 

“Do you wonder, then, that I impugn your 
motives when you suggest that Willmer barter 
with blackmailers?” 

Again King hesitated, evidently struggling 
mentally. 

“No; damned if I do, Fenwick!” he decided. 
“It’s beastly unfair of me, but I can’t help 
it. The best thing for me to do is to stay 
away from you and keep my mouth shut, and 
that’s what I ’ll do.” 

“.Is that a proclamation of neutrality?” de¬ 
manded Fenwick. 

“Be careful!” warned King, angered at 
Fenwick’s tone. “You know perfectly well 
that I’ve been on the right side of this thing 
from the start.” 

Fenwick shrugged his shoulders. 

“Come along, Seth,” he said. “We ’ll find 
a taxicab. Mr. King will ride alone.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE VOLTMETER TEST 

‘ T^OUR o’clock,” announced Fenwick as 
JL he and Boyden rode uptown in a taxi¬ 
cab, bound for the Riverside central office. 
“It’s been a busy afternoon. Tired, Seth?” 

“Not a bit, Charlie. Seems to me when 
I’m workin’ on a case with you I never git 
tired till it’s finished. Then I feel peeved 
’cause the excitement’s all over.” 

“I imagine there’s plenty of excitement still 
in store for us. Things look decidedly 
brighter just now, however.” 

“Why are you so keen on this voltmeter test, 
Charlie?” 

“I ’ll tell you, Seth. All of your investiga¬ 
tions and attempts to trace the voices by means 
of the toll-tickets have failed. That would 
seem to point to the fact that the gang uses 
local calls exclusively; in other words, they 
telephone from within the city. 

“It is highly improbable, however, that 

185 


186 


VOICES 


they called Pendleton Kirke from telephones 
in Newton, or that they called Otis King 
from stations served by the Boulevard central 
office. A stranger in a small community in¬ 
variably excites suspicion, and the gang 
Would not run unnecessary risks. Despite 
the fact that we cannot trace the calls to New¬ 
ton and Forest Hills, I have a number of 
reasons for believing that all the calls origi¬ 
nate in New York.” 

“And what are those reasons, Charlie?” 

“The ringing is the first one. I don’t know 
whether you noticed it, but on each occasion 
that one of these calls was received at Will- 
mer’s something peculiar about the ringing at¬ 
tracted my attention. New York City has 
machine ringing; once the connection is estab¬ 
lished, the called party’s bell will ring auto¬ 
matically at regular intervals until the ’phone 
is answered. The ringing on Willmer’s 
’phone was irregular, just as it is in Spring- 
field, where the operator does it instead of a 
machine. You had that thought in mind 
when you asked Cartier if those sets in his 
closet were with battery, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, I did,” acknowledged Boyden. 

“Cartier, however, did n’t require any ring- 


THE VOLTMETER TEST 187 

ing apparatus for those two stations in his 
closet, because he didn’t fear detection and 
could depend on the usual machine ringing 
when he made a call. My second reason is 
that early this morning when we tried to trace 
a call received at Willmer’s by calling the 
operator on another trunk, we were told that 
no one was calling River 11,980. What did 
that suggest to you?” 

Boy den admitted that the fact puzzled him, 
but that he could not explain it. 

“To me, Seth, it indicated that some one 
was calling Willmer over his own wire. Can’t 
you see it? Imagine some one cutting in an 
instrument on Riverside 11,980, somewhere 
in the vicinity of Willmer’s home. It 
would have to be a magneto set with battery, 
equipped with condenser. 

“If it did n’t have a condenser, the operator 
could come in every time the fellow lifted the 
receiver, and sooner or later the man would 
be detected. He could even have a double¬ 
throw switch, and by throwing it one way 
could cut out the central office line and stand 
no chance of detection. Then he could ring, 
Willmer would answer, and it would appear 
to be a regularly handled call,” 


188 


VOICES 


“Charlie,” exclaimed Seth, “you’ve hit it! 
Practically every call Willmer’s been re¬ 
ceivin’ has been made over his own wire. The 
feller may even be next door to him or just 
around the corner. ’Nother thing: the calls 
to King and Kirke were prob’ly made from 
the same instrument, with the switch thrown 
the other way to let the operator in on them.” 

“Exactly, Seth. The fellow would ask for 
Boulevard 5381, and the operator would 
handle the call as coming from Willmer’s 
’phone, and would write a toll-ticket charging 
the call to River 11,980. That’s why you 
couldn’t trace calls to Forest Hills and New¬ 
ton by means of the toll-tickets. You 
didn’t have the exact time the calls were re¬ 
ceived by Kirke or King, and you’d never 
think of questioning calls to them from Will¬ 
mer’s telephone.” 

“The nerve of ’em, Charlie!” grinned Boy- 
den. “Jest think of raisin’ the Old Harry 
with a man and his partners over his own 
’phone, and makin’ him pay for it!” 

“Cartier evidently has nerve as well as 
ability, Seth.” 

“Sure has. When you asked me to arrange 
for a voltmeter test, I figured you were 


THE VOLTMETER TEST 189 

aimin’ to discover a plain case of wire-tappin’ 
for the purpose of listenin’ in. I never gave 
a thought to any one makin’ actual use o’ the 
circuit.” 

“I know some one who’s sharper than you, 
Seth. Miss Carewe asked me this morning 
if it would be possible for a wire-tapper 
to send messages over Willmer’s wire. She’s 
been piecing things together, and quite logi¬ 
cally hit upon that as a probable answer. 
She’s a wonderfully intelligent girl, Seth.” 

“And as good as she’s smart, Charlie. 
Purty easy to look at too.” 

He surveyed Fenwick shrewdly, a knowing 
twinkle in his eyes, but the young wire-chief 
ignored the remark completely. 

“I’m banking on the Riverside wire-chief 
to prove my theory for me,” he continued 
hastily. “You and I know that the condenser 
acts as a barrier to direct current. The line 
circuit at the central office is always set to re¬ 
ceive a call from the subscriber; if the circuit 
is not in use, and if the condenser was not in 
the ringer circuit, the signal in the central 
office would remain operated through the 
ringer circuit. Cartier would not want the 
operator to come in on the wire at any time 


190 


VOICES 


that he was talking to Willmer, so it’s a cer¬ 
tainty that he’s provided a condenser for his 
station. If a voltmeter test of Riverside 
11,980 is made, I believe it will show an ex¬ 
tra condenser on the line.” 

“We ’ll see,” commented Boy den. “What 
were you tryin’ to do to Otis King?” 

“I was trying to get him so angry that he’d 
talk, Seth. One can scarcely blame Corson 
for suspecting him.” 

“I figger him to be harmless, Charlie.” 

“He may be, but I have an idea that he can 
give us valuable information if he cares to.” 

The taxicab halted in front of the Riverside 
central office on Eighty-ninth Street. Seth 
paid the chauffeur, tipping him conservatively 
and at the same time observing that the taxi 
company was strictly obeying the injunc¬ 
tion to be found in the twenty-ninth chapter 
of Exodus, twenty-first verse. Failing to 
arouse the chauffeur’s curiosity, Seth volun¬ 
teered the information that the aforesaid 
book and verse contained the words, “Charge 
the people.” 

“Mebbe so,” responded the stolid, slow- 
witted driver. “I ’ll ask the boss about it 
some time. G’night.” 


THE VOLTMETER TEST 191 


They made their way to the fire and mois¬ 
ture proof terminal-room, where immense ceil¬ 
ing-high frames receive and distribute the 
many wires in an orderly manner, so that each 
is readily accessible if the electrician is required 
to work on it. 

On a galley resembling an iron fire-escape 
several men were busy joining wires to other 
pairs leading to the central office switchboard 
on the upper floor. Other members of the 
wire-chief’s force were engaged in investigat¬ 
ing and replacing burnt-out fuses, for each 
fine has an individual fuse to guard against an 
overcharge of electricity. 

They found Pierson, the wire-chief, super¬ 
vising some work on “relays,” the little de¬ 
vices which operate and automatically light the 
tiny signal-lamps in front of the operator. 
These signals indicate to her calls demanding 
her immediate attention. 

Pierson was a man of about forty, with ex¬ 
tremely dark hair, skin, and eyes. His out¬ 
standing characteristic was taciturnity. As 
he noticed them enter he nodded briefly and 
made for his desk. 

“Make that test?” inquired Boy den. 

Again he nodded. 


192 VOICES 

*‘Learn anything?” 

“Yes. Like to see it yourself?” 

“If it’s not too much trouble,” assented 
Fenwick. 

Pierson put on his head-set, pushed a but¬ 
ton which connected him with an operator up¬ 
stairs, and said: 

“Put up 11,980.” 

A tiny signal-lamp lighted, which indicated 
that the test-cord had been placed in the jack. 
On the upper part of the wire-chief’s desk was 
the voltmeter, and this now held the attention 
of all three. The voltmeter consists of a de¬ 
licately balanced coil of wire swinging on 
jeweled bearings between the poles of a per¬ 
manent magnet. Spiral springs are arranged 
to hold the coil in a certain position and to re¬ 
turn it to this position if it should be turned 
away from it. To this coil of wire is rigidly 
attached a light aluminum pointer which 
passes before a paper scale graduated in di¬ 
visions and number from 0 to 60. 

When no current flows through the small 
coil of wire the pointer points to zero. In 
testing, the movement of the pointer indicates 
to the experienced wire-chief whether cur¬ 
rent is “leaking,” i. e., flowing off the line. 


THE VOLTMETER TEST 193 


It is also used to determine the nature of the 
trouble if a subscriber’s line is out of order, and 
in case of toll-hnes which are broken it is 
sometimes possible to determine by the volt¬ 
meter the distance to the break. 

The test which Fenwick had requested was 
a simple one. When the extremely sensitive 
voltmeter is connected with a subscriber’s line, 
not only the line but the condenser in the in¬ 
strument attached to it must be charged, and 
the amount of current required for this pur¬ 
pose is indicated by the distance which the 
pointer moves. If an extra instrument has 
been connected to the line with an accompany¬ 
ing condenser, this condenser will also require 
charging and will cause the pointer to move a 
much greater distance. 

Pierson pulled down a little key under the 
voltmeter, and the delicate indicator jumped 
across the scale. 

“What’s the diagnosis?” asked Fenwick, 
entirely dependent on the wire-chief’s pre¬ 
vious experience in the Riverside central 
office. 

“Two instruments; two condensers,” an¬ 
swered Pierson in a monotone. “Funny.” 

“Damned funny,” returned Fenwick. 


194 


VOICES 


“I’m going to ask you to cut red tape and do 
an unusual job in unusual time. Have you 
any numbers reserved in connection with 
Riverside 11,980?” 

Pierson consulted his records. Consecu¬ 
tive telephone numbers are sometimes reserved 
to meet the future needs of large telephone 
users. 

“None reserved,” he announced, “but line 
11,982 is non-working and could be assigned.” 

“Good enough. I want you to temporarily 
disconnect Riverside 11,980 and to hook 
11,982 up to Warren Willmer’s board. Fix 
it up with the traffic assignment bureau by 
telephone; don’t wait for covering orders. 
Chase your men out on the job right away, 
and work them overtime if necessarv. I want 
that line O.K.’d by evening.” 

“Very well. My orders are to give you 
anything you wish,” responded Pierson. 

Fenwick picked up Pierson’s head receiver, 
called the operator, and asked to be connected 
with Riverside 11,980. In a few moments 
Lorraine answered. 

“This is Bell, Miss Car ewe. A telephone 
man, or perhaps two of them, will be up there 
in a little while to do some work at the switch- 


THE VOLTMETER TEST 195 

board. Tell Riggs to ask to see their badges 
and to permit them to go to work. You may 
also tell Mr. Willmer that when the telephone 
men finish he will be immune from calls from 
the voices.” 

“Oh, that’s splendid, Mr. Bell!” she en¬ 
thused. “Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely,” he answered, with conviction. 
“I ’ll explain when I see you. Is Mr. King 
there?” 

“No; he’s at Forest Hills. He telephoned 
me a short time ago and said he intended to 
remain at his home until some of the excite¬ 
ment had died down. He described Mr. 
Boyden’s thrilling experiences, but I’m wait¬ 
ing to hear them all over again from Seth 
when he returns to the house.” 

“Seth will be glad to accommodate you, 
I’m sure,” advised Fenwick. “We shall 
probably be there before the telephone men 
leave. Good-by.” 

He discarded the receiver and turned to 
Pierson. 

“I rely on you to take care of that work for 
me, Pierson,” he said. 

Pierson nodded. 

“Come ajong, Seth,” invited Fenwick, and 


196 


VOICES 


the two left the central office building and 
turned toward Broadway. 

“Excellent progress,” commented Charlie 
as the two trudged along. “We ’ve definitely 
established the fact that some one is using 
Willmer’s wire. Every time we Ve been pres¬ 
ent and a questionable call has terminated at 
his home the line involved has been 11,980. 
If we temporarily disconnect that line we ’ll 
deprive the voices of it as a means of communi¬ 
cation. If they insist upon continuing their 
annoying program they ’ll have to use an¬ 
other line, and we ’ll have a better chance of 
catching them.” 

“Are n’t you going to try to find that in¬ 
strument on 11,980?” demanded Seth. 

“Not to-night/’ 1 advised Charlie. “It’s 
getting dark, now. That will be your job for 
to-morrow. You ’ll have to be diplomatic 
about it, though. Learn the number of Will- 
mer ’s cable and conductor and find out if it’s 
been multipled in other cable-boxes in ad¬ 
joining residences or apartment-houses. In 
some basement or cellar of a neighboring 
building Willmer’s wire has been tapped.” 

“I ’ll find it, too,” promised Seth. 

“Let’s stop in here,” suggested Fenwick, 


THE VOLTMETER TEST 197 


entering a cigar-store and leading the way to 
a coin-box telephone-booth. He called Bou¬ 
levard 5381, depositing the coins requested by 
the operator. Otis King answered the call. 

“This is Cartier,” announced Fenwick, 
speaking in a low tone and giving a fairly 
credible imitation of that worthy’s voice. 
“Have you told anything?” 

“I have n’t yet,” answered King. “I must 
see you as soon as possible, though. Any¬ 
where you say. I give you my word of honor 
you ’ll be perfectly safe.” 

“I ’ll call you later and let you know,” said 
Charlie. 

“You told Boyden you put one over on me,” 
accused King. 

“Only to protect you,” reminded Fenwick. 

“That’s so. I don’t like the looks of things, 
though. Call me up when you ’re at liberty, 
and I ’ll meet you wherever you say.” 

“I ’ll do that,” assured Charlie. “Good- 
by.” 

He stopped at the counter to fill his cigar- 
case, permitted Boyden to help himself to a 
perfecto, and suggested that they walk to the 
Willmer residence. 

(t yVe need the fresh air, Seth,” he observed, 


198 


VOICES 


“and we seem to be ahead of our schedule. I 
promised to complete this case in forty-eight 
hours, and the first twenty-four will not ex¬ 
pire until eleven o’clock to-night. We already 
know one of the voices, and we know how they 
operate. We also know that at least one of our 
clients can’t be trusted, for King thought he 
was actually talking to Cartier a moment 
ago.” 

“What did he say, Charlie?” 

“He said he wanted to meet me as soon as 
possible, and assured me that I would be per¬ 
fectly safe.” 

Boyden whistled. 

“Guess that leaves Mr. King out of our fu¬ 
ture conferences, hey?” 

“Guess it does, Seth.” 

“We know one o’ the voices, and we know 
how they operate,” mused Seth, repeating 
Fenwick’s words. “To-morrow I’m gonna 
find out where. What ’re you gonna do to¬ 
morrow?” 

“That’s a fair enough question, Seth. 
Some time to-morrow I’m going to find out 
why.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


A HUNDRED VOICES 

I T was past six o’clock when Fenwick and 
Boyden reached the Willmer home after a 
leisurely walk, and upon their arrival they 
found two telephone men engaged in packing 
up their tools, while a third was engaged in 
obtaining a test of the newly installed line. 
When a new trunk is tested the wire-chief con¬ 
nects it with a circuit which makes it theoreti¬ 
cally twenty miles long, and thus a very 
efficient test is made before an O.K. is given to 
the installer. 

Fenwick waited until Pierson advised thaf 
the line was functioning properly. 

“You fellows did a great rush job,” he 
commended, as the installer left the switch¬ 
board. 

“Cinch,” grinned the man, pleased at the 
compliment. “Never saw a job run more 
smoothly. The first cable-conductor we 
picked up was the one we wanted. Come 
along, fellows.” 


199 


200 


VOICES 


The three men picked up their kits and de¬ 
parted. Fenwick turned to Seth. 

“There’s efficiency for you,” he said. “One 
nod from Pierson is as good as another man’s 
bond. These quiet chaps are usually like that. 
Pierson realized that two men might have 
trouble in making the installation quickly, so 
he sent three, on his own initiative.” 

“If you please, sir,” announced Riggs, ap¬ 
pearing in the doorway, “Miss Care we wished 
to be advised when you came in. She’s in 
the library with Mr. Willmer. And Mr. 
Corson’s just come, sir, and is asking for you.” 

“We ’ll go to the library, Riggs, and take 
Inspector Corson with us.” 

Lorraine was talking to her guardian when 
they entered, and Willmer was apparently in¬ 
terested. 

“At last,” she murmured. “I had quite 
given you up, and we ’re extremely anxious 
to hear Mr. Boyden’s story. Otis told me 
part of it briefly, and I’ve been trying to tell 
Mr. Willmer.” 

“Inspector Corson will be interested, too,” 
observed Fenwick, “so we ’ll let Seth start at 
the beginning and tell the whole story.” 


A HUNDRED VOICES 201 

“Go ahead, Boyden,” grunted Willmer, 
who once more appeared to have recovered his 
poise and self-control. “I’d listen to you 
any time. You re the nearest thing to a male 
human being I Ve encountered in some time. 
Can’t you begin with some sort of scriptural 
reference?” 

“Galatians, first chapter, thirteenth verse,” 
announced Seth, without hesitation, while 
Fenwick and Corson exchanged amused 
glances at Willmer’s testy comment. 

“Go on,” invited Willmer. “What’s the 
verse say?” 

“ ‘Ye have heard my conversation in times 
past.’ ” 

“So we have, Boyden; so we have. I can 
stand another sample of it, though. Shoot.” 

Boyden proceeded, describing his identifica¬ 
tion of Nick as Cartier, his search for the man, 
his experiences in the Thirteenth Street house, 
and his subsequent rescue by Fenwick and 
King. Fenwick then related his altercation 
with King. 

“I tell you, Bell, he’s our man!” exclaimed 
Corson, after hearing an account of the tele¬ 
phone conversation with King in which Fen- 


202 


VOICES 


wick impersonated Cartier. “Why did n’t 
you send him to me when he returned from 
down town?” 

“He refused to join you in the first place, 
and I felt that as long as he was with one of us 
he could do no damage.” 

“Right enough. We know now that he’s 
involved, don’t we?” 

“I don’t believe it,” objected Lorraine em¬ 
phatically. 

“Sorry, lady,” apologized Corson, “but all 
the evidence points to that fact.” 

“We don’t know to what extent he’s in¬ 
volved, inspector,” reminded Fenwick. “Just 
remember that he apparently does n’t know 
how to get in touch with Cartier, although 
he’s extremely anxious to do so. He’s prob¬ 
ably an innocent dupe, just stubborn enough 
not to realize it.” 

“Leave King to me,” suggested Willmer 
grimly. “If he knows anything that will shed 
light on our mystery, I ’ll guarantee to learn 
what it is.” 

“That arrangement is agreeable to me,” as¬ 
sented Corson. “I have no doubts regarding 
Mr. Willmer’s ability to handle him.” 

“Thanks,” commented Willmer sarcasti- 


A HUNDRED VOICES 


203 


cally, at which the inspector flushed. Every 
effort of Corson’s to obtain the financier’s 
favor had been similarly repulsed. 

Willmer turned to Fenwick. 

“Miss Carewe has given me your assurance 
that the voices will no longer bother me. Will 
you kindly explain?” 

“Gladly,” responded Fenwick. “Late this 
afternoon Mr. Boyden and I arranged for 
and witnessed an absolutely scientific test 
which conclusively demonstrated that the 
voices have been doing all their telephoning 
over Riverside 11,980. Somewhere in the 
neighborhood they have cut in an instrument 
on your line, equipped with facilities for shut¬ 
ting out the operator and ringing you. If 
they wished to call your partner they placed 
the call through the operator in the regular 
way, and she had no means of determining that 
the call was not from your home. Inciden¬ 
tally, you would be charged with such calls.” 

“Did you find the instrument?” demanded 
Willmer. 

“No, but we have rendered it valueless. It 
was too late to start looking for it to-day, so 
Seth is going to make a search to-morrow. In 
the mean time the line has been temporarily 


204 


VOICES 


disconnected and line 11,982 has been substi¬ 
tuted at your switchboard. The next time 
our unknown friends attempt to use 11,980 
they ’ll find that their sinister equipment will 
no longer function.” 

‘‘That’s the best thing you ’ve done since 
you started,” declared Willmer. “It almost 
justifies the faith Mr. Reeves has in your 
ability.” 

The telephone rang. Lorraine answered 
it. 

“It’s for you, Mr. Bell,” she announced. 

Fenwick took the instrument. 

“Bell speaking,” he announced. 

“Hello, Mr. Bell,” answered a voice which 
he instantly recognized as Cartier’s. “Will 
you please put some one on the other trunk 
to find out who is calling River 11,982?” 

“I will,” answered Fenwick, turning to 
Boyden. “Seth, run down to the switch¬ 
board and ask the operator to let you know 
who is calling on this line.” 

He resumed speech with the calling party. 

“I’ve followed your directions,” he advised. 

“You do such obvious things, Mr. Bell,” 
bantered Cartier. “Don’t you know that the 
voices are everywhere and know everything? 


A HUNDRED VOICES 205 

Five minutes after the old circuit was discon¬ 
nected and the new one placed in use we trans¬ 
ferred our equipment. Does n’t that tell you 
something about the strength and infallibility 
of our organization? Go back to your tele¬ 
phone job, Mr. Bell, and leave Willmer to us. 
Sooner or later he will stop our operations in 
the only way they can be stopped: by meeting 
our demands.” 

“I will tell him, Cartier,” promised Fen¬ 
wick. “In the mean time I would advise you 
to get in touch with Otis King. He’s very 
anxious to talk with you.” 

“I will, Bell—but over another telephone. 
I’m not going to give you a chance to listen 
in on this wire. Good night.” 

Disappointed, crestfallen, and unutterably 
chagrined, Charlie hung up the receiver as 
Seth hurriedly entered the room. 

“The operator claimed no one was callin’ on 
River 11,982,” announced Boyden. “Looks 
as if they’ve cut in on the new line already!” 

“They have, Seth,” admitted Fenwick. 
“They may have been listening in when I 
called Miss Carewe and told her the installers 
were coming. See if you can get Pierson on 
the ’phone.” 


206 


VOICES 


“Apparently your promises of immunity 
from further annoyance do not mean much,” 
grumbled Willmer. 

Fenwick flushed. 

“I’m beaten, sir, for the present, and will 
have to admit it. But I’m not discouraged. 
Every new development, every little setback, 
is merely bringing us closer to a solution. I 
am making no vain boast nor am I over- 
optimistic when I say that by eleven o’clock 
to-morrow night the voices will be silenced.” 

“But how about the mystery of Pendleton 
Kirke’s death?” demanded Corson. 

“The answer to that may be found by any 
careful, analytical person who will visit the 
study at Newton.” 

The inspector stared at Fenwick, puzzled 
and incredulous. 

“That’s almost a challenge,” he announced 
slowly. “I’ve .never been accused of care¬ 
lessness, and I Ve always prided myself on 
having a certain talent for analyzing and re¬ 
constructing. To-morrow I shall visit New¬ 
ton again. If I fail to get the answer I’m 
going to ask you to give it to me.” 

“And I ’ll gladly comply, inspector, on one 
condition: that you do not interfere with my 


A HUNDRED VOICES 207 

handling of Mr. Willmer’s case until after 
eleven o’clock to-morrow night.” 

“Done,” agreed Corson, and the two shook 
hands. 

“Here ’s Pierson,” advised Boyden, hand¬ 
ing the telephone instrument to Fenwick. 

“Hello, Pierson,” began Charlie. “This is 
Bell. How many men did you send to Mr. 
Willmer’s to hook up that new line?” 

“Two,” responded Pierson. “When they 
came back I asked them how they managed to 
finish so quickly. They told me that when 
they reached the house a passing telephone 
man hailed them and volunteered to assist in 
the work. He was on his way home. They 
accepted his help, but since it was contrary 
to instructions I gave them both a bawling 
out. Anything wrong?” 

“Everything,” declared Charlie. “Did they 
get his badge-number?” 

“Yes; 478.” 

“Thank you, Pierson.” He replaced the 
receiver and turned to Boyden. 

“What was Cartier’s badge-number, Seth, 
when he worked for the company?” 

“Four seventy-eight.” 

“And to think we never recognized him I 


208 


VOICES 


He was one of the three men who worked on 
the switchboard down-stairs. I recall now 
that one of the men took lots of time to gather 
up his tools, and kept his head down while 
he was doing it. He didn’t fear identifica¬ 
tion; he was merely avoiding it.” 

“D ’you mean to tell me that fellow has 
been in my home again?” demanded Willmer, 
his fist descending upon the table with a crash. 
“This comes of trusting a damned amateur. 
You’re dangerous, sir; absolutely dangerous! 
These people seek my fortune or my life, and 
you carelessly provide them with the means 
of entering my home.” 

“Not intentionally, sir,” put in Fenwick, 
carefully repressing the anger that was surg¬ 
ing up within him. “I sought to save you 
further annoyance and was outguessed. My 
motives were entirely honest. You interest 
me, however, when you say that your fortune 
or your life is at stake. Will you tell me 
why?” 

Willmer fidgeted at this reminder that he 
had been reticent regarding the case from the 
beginning. He refused to meet the challenge 
in the young wire-chief’s eyes. 

“Will you tell me why Otis King refuses 


A HUNDRED VOICES 


209 


to help me? Or perhaps you will tell me why 
you want the mysterious telephone-calls elim¬ 
inated but have no interest in catching the 
offenders ?” 

Several times Willmer was about to speak, 
but words appeared to fail him. 

“None of your damned business!” he blurted 
finally, punctuating each word with a smash 
of the fist upon the table. He arose heavily, 
his eyelids narrowed, and his lips trembling 
nervously. “You understand the conditions 
under which you took this case. If you ’re not 
a fraud and a joke you ’ll accomplish some¬ 
thing real to-night . If you don’t the inspec¬ 
tor may begin work on the case to-morrow 
morning.” 

He started for the door, but so uncertain 
were his footsteps that Lorraine hastened to 
his side and gave him the assistance one would 
offer the aged or infirm. 

“Irascible old gent,” chuckled Corson, far 
from displeased at the turn events had taken. 
“You can bet that when I take hold I’m not 
going to pry into his personal affairs. There’s 
just one thing to do, and that is to pretend to 
capitulate to this gang. It’s money they are 
after, and some one will have to come and get 


210 VOICES 

it or some one will have to take it to them. 
That’s where we ’re going to get them.” 

“You have n’t taken hold yet,” reminded 
Fenwick. 

“No,” admitted Corson cheerfully, “you 
still have to-night.” 

“Unless you learn more about Pendleton 
Kirke’s death, I have until eleven o’clock to¬ 
morrow night,” corrected Fenwick. 

“We shall see,” smiled Corson. “I’m go¬ 
ing now, but we shall probably meet to-mor¬ 
row.” 

“Probably,” agreed Fenwick. “Good 
night.” 

As the inspector left the room Charlie 
turned quickly to Boyden. 

“They ’ve sort of put it up to us, Seth,” he 
said. “You’ve simply got to find that equip¬ 
ment to-morrow, while I must definitely estab¬ 
lish the reason for blackmailing Willmer.” 

Boyden nodded reassuringly, and again the 
telephone rang. It was a distinctly pleasant 
masculine voice that spoke when Fenwick 
answered the summons. 

“May I speak with Mr. Willmer?” 

“Mr. Willmer is busy,” answered Charlie. 

“Passing over that obvious falsehood, Mr. 


A HUNDRED VOICES 


211 


Bell,” continued the voice, “I wish to advise 
you that we have decided to issue an ultima¬ 
tum. Mr. Willmer may have until midnight 
to-morrow night to meet our demands. Fail¬ 
ure to do so will result in publicity of a par¬ 
ticularly undesirable nature in every news¬ 
paper in the city. A subsequent refusal to 
deal with us will mean that Mr. Willmer 
does not value his life. Do I make myself 
clear?” 

“No,” answered Fenwick. “You fail to 
particularize the demands with which Mr. 
Willmer must comply.” 

“They will be stated in full,” answered the 
unknown, “when Mr. Willmer personally in¬ 
dicates a desire to hear them. Until then we 
have arranged to have our members telephone 
him at intervals of thirty minutes, to remind 
him of his obligations.” 

A distant click told Fenwick that the party 
had disconnected. Deeply engrossed in 
thought, he sat with the telephone instrument 
before him, drumming on the desk with his 
finger-tips. 

“That voice was certainly familiar, Seth, 
but I can’t seem to place it. It was n’t Car- 
tier, but I’m sure it was the chap who imper- 


212 VOICES 

sonated Willmer when Cartier, or Nick, es¬ 
caped. It was the same voice that telephoned 
to the Ibis Club pretending to be Willmer.” 

“That’s enough for me, Charlie,” assured 
Seth. “I never knew you to go wrong on 
voices yet. Anything I kin do?” 

“Yes, Seth. You seem to have made quite 
a hit with Willmer. Go to him and reassure 
him. Get him in a good humor, insist that 
there’s nothing to worry about, and prevail 
upon him to retire early. Do the same with 
Miss Carewe. She will probably insist upon 
staying up and helping us, but I rely on you 
to convince her that she should be in her room 
early and should stay there until morning. 

“As soon as you ’ve done that, come down 
to the switchboard. I’m going down there 
now. The fellow who just called up told me 
that we may expect a call from one of the 
voices every thirty minutes until Willmer ac¬ 
cedes to their demands. It will give us a fine 
chance to study them, but we ’ll have to take 
separate tricks at the switchboard, and I want 
every one out of the way.” 

Boyden departed to carry out his orders 
and Fenwick hurried to the lower floor, where 
he advised Riggs and the housekeeper to re- 


A HUNDRED VOICES 213 

tire early. He also instructed them to issue 
orders to the other servants. 

No particular member of the Willmer 
household had ever been charged with the re¬ 
sponsibility of acting as private branch ex¬ 
change operator. The nearest one to the 
switchboard usually performed the necessary 
operations whenever an annunciator shutter 
dropped and the buzzer sounded. More than 
an inkling of the mysterious messages had 
penetrated to the servant’s quarters, however, 
and the housekeeper actually sighed with re¬ 
lief as she saw Fenwick take his place at the 
switchboard. 

Fenwick waited at least twenty minutes be¬ 
fore receiving a call. It appeared on trunk 
11,982, and as he plugged in and announced, 
“This is the Willmer residence,” the calling 
party answered promptly. It was the voice 
of an old woman, unmistakably Irish. 

“I ’ll give me number first,” she announced. 
“ ’T is Voice Number One, and I’m afther 
tellin’ yez that many ’s the sin Warren Will¬ 
mer has on his head and hands. Tell him 
’t will not be well with him till he does as the 
voices ask. Good-by to yez.” 

Fenwick listened intently to the voice, and 


214 yOICES 

smiled faintly with satisfaction as the conver¬ 
sation terminated without a request to speak 
with Willmer developing. 

Riggs entered the room. 

“Mr. Willmer is dining in his den, sir, with 
Mr. Boy den. I just served them. Miss Ca¬ 
re we said she would wait until Mr. Boy den 
could relieve you at the switchboard, sir, and 
would then dine with you.” 

“How does Mr. Willmer act, Riggs?” 

“Fine, sir,” answered Riggs, with just a 
touch of loyal enthusiasm. “Mr. Boyden’s 
telling him stories, and they re both laughing 
most of the time.” 

“Good enough,” grinned Fenwick, and he 
again faced the switchboard as Riggs with¬ 
drew. 

At 7:30 the second call developed. The 
gentleman calling possessed a marked Teu¬ 
tonic accent. 

“Dis iss Voice Number Two. Herr Vill- 
mer iss in great danger unless he does vat ve 
dell him. Blease say to him that vat ve ask 
for to him does not belong.” 

As this conversation terminated Boyden ap¬ 
peared. 

“This is as good as a vaudeville perform- 


A HUNDRED VOICES 215 

ance, Seth,” Fenwick told him. “I ’ve had 
two calls. One was supposed to be an Irish 
woman and the other was a fellow with a 
German accent. Both threatened Willmer. 
As a matter of fact, I’m absolutely sure that 
only one person is calling—the same fellow 
who warned me that we might expect mes¬ 
sages every thirty minutes. I’m sure of it, 
and just as sure that I Ve heard his voice be¬ 
fore. Sooner or later the name of its owner 
will occur to me. How is Willmer?” 

“Gone to bed,” advised Seth. “I had him 
feelin’ pretty good. First off, he was grouchy 
an’ broodin’ over his troubles, specially these 
telephone-calls, but I told him some o’ the 
funny things that happen to telephone men, 
and purty soon I had him laughin’. Miss 
Carewe is waitin’ for you in the dinin’-room, 
so ye’d better hurry.” 

“I will, Seth. When the next call comes in, 
listen carefully and see if you can recognize 
the voice.” 

Fenwick joined Lorraine in the dining¬ 
room. 

“Any progress?” she asked as Riggs pro¬ 
ceeded to serve them. 

“Some,” he acknowledged. “I feel sure 


216 


VOICES 


that we have no gang to contend with, for one 
thing. There are just two people causing all 
this trouble. One of them is Cartier, and the 
other is Cartier’s boss.” 

She was apparently puzzled. 

“Why, there must be others involved, Mr. 
Bell,” she protested. “So many people have 
called up. I should say that there have been 
approximately a hundred different voices.” 

“It may have seemed so,” admitted Fen¬ 
wick, “but I rarely make a mistake where 
voices are concerned, and I’m confident that 
one man has been doing almost all the tele¬ 
phoning. He’s a wonderful mimic and has 
genuine histrionic talents. For want of a bet¬ 
ter name or until we establish his identity, 
let’s call him the Man with a Hundred 
Voices.” 

She shuddered. 

“And I ’ll have to acknowledge that I made 
a serious error,” he continued. “Do you re¬ 
call that early this morning I ventured to de¬ 
scribe the unknown person who telephoned?” 

She nodded. 

“You said, 'He’s young, dark-complex¬ 
ioned, dirty, illiterate,’ and a lot of other 
things,” she quoted. 


A HUNDRED VOICES 


217 


“Well, I was wrong,” admitted Fenwick. 
“So well did the Man with a Hundred Voices 
play his part that I mistook the mimic for the 
real, and I described the very type he sought 
to counterfeit.” 

“It sounds weird and mysterious, does n’t 
it? Nevertheless, it is comforting to know 
that we have only two people to fear instead 
of a host of unknown foes. But how about 
Cartier?” 

“Cartier undoubtedly has telephoned occa¬ 
sionally, as one of the voices, but his compan¬ 
ion is the man the newspapers would call the 
master mind.” 

“You should be a detective,” she smiled, “in¬ 
stead of a telephone man. You seem to have 
positive talent in that direction.” 

“Thank vou. I’m afraid I’d be an utter 
failure. The telephone business is exciting 
and romantic enough for me.” 

“But think of going through life looking 
for the Man with a Hundred Voices! Does n’t 
it sound alluring?” 

“Not at all. It sounds discouraging. 
I’ve contracted to find him before eleven 
o’clock to-morrow night.” 


CHAPTER XV 


TEINITY CHIMES 

M R. BOYDEN tells me that I cannot be 
of assistance this evening,” said Lor¬ 
raine Carewe, as they left the table. “I do 
wish you good luck, however, and I truly hope 
that you ’ll do something to regain Mr. Will- 
mer’s confidence before morning. If you 
knew him as well as I do you’d appreciate the 
fact that his present state of mind presages a 
more violent outburst. He was particularly 
mean and inconsiderate to you this evening, 
and I felt awfully sorry for you. I would n’t 
blame you a bit if you entirely discontinued 
your efforts in his behalf.” 

“I’m not making any efforts in his behalf,” 
reminded Fenwick. “I’m merely doing a job 
assigned to me by my superior. So far as 
I’m concerned Mr. Willmer is entirely out 
of the picture.” 

“Then you merely regard this as a disagree¬ 
able task to be disposed of as quickly as pos- 

218 


TRINITY CHIMES 


219 


sible?” she asked. “Sentiment and pride do 
not enter into it at all?” 

“On the contrary, I’m tremendously inter¬ 
ested, because the task is agreeable. I do 
take pride in what I’m doing, aside from striv¬ 
ing to find favor in the eyes of my boss. As 
for sentiment, I shall feel amply repaid if I 
succeed in driving the troubled look from the 
eyes of a beautiful damsel who personifies the 
Moslem’s idea of beauty, but who objects to 
being reminded of the fact.” 

As a delicate blush suffused the fine texture 
of her skin and caused the dark lashes to mask 
the glory of her darker eyes, Fenwick’s face 
held a whimsical smile. Again he had shaken 
off his diffidence, and had launched his sally in 
precisely the tone of banter that would give 
evidence of underlying sincerity. 

“Gallant as ever, Mr. Bell,” she observed, 
when she had sufficiently regained her com¬ 
posure to meet his eyes. “I’m flattered at 
your efforts in my behalf. Now I’m going to 
write a letter or two, after which I shall take 
Mr. Boyden’s advice. ‘Early to bed, miss!’ 
said Seth, wagging an imperative forefinger. 
Please tell him that I’m following his admoni¬ 
tion to the letter,” 


220 


VOICES 


“I will,” he assured her, and they parted. 
He immediately rejoined Boy den at the 
switchboard. 

“Anything doing, Seth?” he asked. 

“Nary a nibble,” answered his assistant dis¬ 
gustedly. “Hello, here ’s a bite, now!” 

“Just eight o’clock,” reminded Fenwick. 
“Take the call.” 

Boyden plugged in and flicked the listening 
key. 

“Mr. Willmer’s residence,” he announced, 
and then listened intently for a minute or two. 

“I ’ll remember,” he informed the calling 
party. “The clock will strike twelve three 
times before that happens. Mebbe it won’t 
even happen.” He disconnected and turned 
to Fenwick. 

“Frenchman,” he advised. “Said that af¬ 
ter midnight to-morrow Willmer’s reputation 
would be utterly destroyed. Purty tough 
ain’t it, Charlie?” 

“It may be considerably worse than we 
think,” returned Fenwick, so seriously that 
Seth’s facetious manner vanished instantly. 

“What are you goin’ to do if Willmer ord¬ 
ers you off the case?” 

“We ’re going to continue,” answered Fen- 


TRINITY CHIMES 221 

wick promptly. ‘‘He can’t interfere with 
your efforts to locate the missing station in 
this vicinity, nor can he obstruct my efforts to 
learn the reason for these attempts at black¬ 
mail, so long as my investigations are carried 
on outside bis home.” 

At Boyden’s request Charlie outlined the 
procedure he wished Seth to follow in search¬ 
ing for the piratical telephone equipment. 
The discussion continued until the switchboard 
clock indicated the time as twenty-five minutes 
past eight. Fenwick exchanged places with 
Boy den. 

“We should have another call within the 
next five minutes,” explained Fenwick. “I’ve 
been racking my memory in an endeavor to 
recall the owner of that voice. Perhaps it 
will come to me if I hear it again. Sooner 
or later I’m going to remember it.” 

“There’s your call now!” said Seth. 

“I hardly think so,” disagreed Fenwick. 
“This call is on 11,981. We know that the 
voices are using 11,982, the new trunk.” He 
hurriedly plugged in and answered. 

“Please refrain from speaking except on re¬ 
quest,” ordered a clear, brusque voice. “Are 
you listening, Inspector Corson?” 


222 VOICES 

“Yes,’ 5 answered a somewhat faint, distant 
voice. 

“You are at Newton, inspector?” 

“Yes. Why?” 

“Don’t ask questions. Are you listening, 
Mr. Otis King?” 

“I’m listening,” responded King. 

“Do you hear me distinctly at Forest 
Hills?” 

“Fairly well.” 

“And Mr. Willmer. Are you listening, 
Mr. Willmer?” 

“This is Mr. Willmer’s residence, but Mr. 
Willmer is not listening,” responded Fen¬ 
wick. 

“Ah, the estimable Mr. Bell. I should have 
preferred Mr. Willmer, but his chicken heart 
has apparently failed him. We ’ll have to get 
along with Mr. Bell for the present. We are 
assembled to discuss a matter of tremendous 
importance. 

“After twelve o’clock to-morrow night the 
newspapers of this city will be supplied with 
copy of a sensational nature regarding the 
triumvirate. The publication of this informa¬ 
tion will mark the point at which disintegra- 


TRINITY CHIMES 


223 


tion of that vast financial power will begin. 
To prevent such a catastrophe, money will be 
required; a large sum. The money must be 
furnished by Warren Willmer. Mr. King, 
may I rely on you to use your influence to this 
end?” 

“As I Ve said before,” responded King, 
“I ’ll see you in hell first!” 

“You are young and foolish, Mr. King,” 
continued the voice. “I don’t despair of 
changing your mind before to-morrow night. 
How about you, Mr. Corson? Would you 
care to advise this heedless youth?” 

“Gladly,” answered Corson. “I ’ll under¬ 
take to convince Mr. Willmer as well. I ’ll 
tell them both that the course you prescribe is 
the only safe and sane one.” 

“Good for you, inspector. I hope you 
mean it. No tricks or traps, remember. If 
you are hoping to accomplish the downfall of 
my organization, you’d better abandon the no¬ 
tion immediately. We expect fair dealing. 
Is that satisfactory?” 

“Perfectly,” agreed the inspector. 

“May we expect your assistance, Mr. Bell?” 
continued the voice. 


224 


VOICES 


“You may not,” retorted Charlie. “I shall 
strongly advise against anything of the kind. 
Before midnight to-morrow you will have rea¬ 
son to regret every threat you have made.” 

“You are an excellent telephone man, Mr. 
Bell,” returned the unknown in even tones, 
“but you are scarcely qualified to act as ad¬ 
viser to a multimillionaire in an affair of this 
character. As a sign and warning to all of 
you I have arranged to demonstrate to-night 
that Warren Willmer is entirely within the 
power of the voices. I hope you will profit 
by the warning. Are there any questions?” 

“Just one,” put in Corson. “If Mr. Will¬ 
mer agrees to meet your demands, how are 
we to let you know?” 

“A fair question, inspector. I ’ll call Mr. 
Willmer at noon to-morrow. He must an¬ 
swer the telephone himself and will then be 
advised of all the details. Is that clear?” 

“Perfectly,” assented the inspector. 

“Any other questions?” asked the voice. 

“Yes,” answered Fenwick. “You’ve ex¬ 
plained things pretty clearly and know the at¬ 
titude of each of us. Earlier this evening 
you advised that this house would be called 
by a different member of your gang every 


TRINITY CHIMES 


225 


thirty minutes. There is no necessity for con¬ 
tinuing that farce. Will you entertain a sug¬ 
gestion to discontinue the calls for the rest of 
the night?” 

The man chuckled. 

“Hardly,” he refused. “I want you to have 
a definite idea of the number and variety of the 
persons with whom you are dealing. I want 
you to note the precision and regularity with 
which we operate. The calls will be con¬ 
tinued! Is that all?” 

No one answered. 

“Good night!” mocked the voice and dis¬ 
connected. Fenwick immediately slipped 
from his chair and, turning to Seth, briefly ac¬ 
quainted him with the nature of the conversa¬ 
tion. 

“Get my coat and hat, Seth,” he or¬ 
dered. “I’m going to find the person who 
called.” 

“How?” queried Seth. “If he was talkin’ 
from a private branch exchange you should ’ve 
let me get on the wire and find out the number 
from the operator.” 

“You couldn’t,” explained Charlie. “You 
didn’t notice it, but a call came through on 
11,982 directly after the one on the other 


226 VOICES 

trunk. It was the same fellow calling. He 
put the other line in use for just that reason. 
Hurry—my coat and hat.” 

Seth bustled out of sight, but soon re¬ 
turned. 

“Call the Long Island toll-board chief op¬ 
erator, right away,” advised Fenwick. “Ask 
her to make a search through the tickets writ¬ 
ten within the last thirty minutes. We want 
to learn what Rector number called Boulevard 
5381 and Newton 4987. Stick to the switch¬ 
board and take every call that comes in. Be 
on. your guard; they ’ve threatened to demon¬ 
strate their power to harm Mr. Willmer. 
Good-by.” 

“How do you know it was a Rector num¬ 
ber?” queried Boyden, following Fenwick to 
the front door. 

“Tell you when I return; no time now.” 

Fenwick flew down the stairs and was for¬ 
tunate to obtain a taxicab immediately. 

“Where to?” asked the chauffeur. 

“One eleven Broadway, and snap it up,” he 
ordered. 

The chauffeur obeyed his injunction to the 
letter, and the tires fairly sang on the trip 
down town. Fenwick was not over-sanguine 


TRINITY CHIMES 227 

regarding the success of his trip, but he felt 
that it was a fair gamble, and that Boyden 
would successfully cope with any develop¬ 
ments at the Willmer residence while he was 
away. 

The brakes suddenly protested, the driver 
shifted his gears, and the taxi came to a halt. 

“Here you are, sir,” announced the chauf¬ 
feur, opening the door. 

“Wait for me,” requested Fenwick. He 
looked about. Half-way up the next block 
two policemen were peering into a store win¬ 
dow. He hurried to the spot. Gilt lettering 
on the window read: “Branson’s Ticket 
Agency.” 

“Anything wrong?” he asked. 

“We ’re wonderin’,” answered one of the 
officers. “This place is usually closed after 
seven in the evenin’. George here spotted a 
stranger usin’ the telephones in there a while 
ago. This place is run by two women, and 
we never saw a man behind the counter be¬ 
fore. There’s the feller gettin’ into that taxi 
at the next corner.” 

Fenwick glanced in the direction indicated. 
A slender chap wearing a light raincoat and 
cap stepped hurriedly into the waiting cab, 


228 


VOICES 


which immediately spun around on its small 
wheel-base and headed up-town. 

“No burglar-alarm ?” queried Fenwick. 

“No. The place is open to the street, with 
a cop passing almost constantly. This feller 
had a key. I called Pat here, becuz I was n’t 
sure what to do.” 

“You should have grabbed him,” observed 
Fenwick. “I’m going to try to catch him.” 

He returned to his taxi and pointed out the 
distant tail-light on the stranger’s cab. 

“Catch that fellow,” he ordered. 

Without a word his driver started off and 
made the most of the fact that there was no 
traffic to interfere with his progress. Pass¬ 
ing City Hall Park he turned to Fenwick. 

“If we can steal up on him we can catch 
him,” he said. “If he spots us and tries to 
get away we ’re done for. That cab’s a six- 
cylinder; mine’s a four.” 

He turned to his wheel, and, utterly disre¬ 
garding speed-laws, ran -his speedometer up 
to a point that caused the somewhat ancient 
vehicle to vibrate, creak, and knock amaz¬ 
ingly. As they reached Canal Street their 
quarry was less than two blocks distant, but 
they were compelled to wait by traffic. 


TRINITY CHIMES 


229 


“We Ve got to get ’em soon,” explained the 
driver. “I need gas and oil both. Besides, I 
think that fellow noticed me. He speeded up 
a lot just about here.” 

As they moved on the rear light of the 
stranger’s cab was again a mere speck in the 
distance, and it was more than evident that 
the pursuit had been observed. Fenwick’s 
driver made a despairing final effort, but soon 
abandoned it. 

“No use,” he announced. “She’s smokin’ 
now.” He turned down a side street to a 
service-station, where he procured the neces¬ 
sary gas, oil, and water. 

“Will you want me any more?” he asked, 
genuinely disappointed at his inability to meet 
the requirements of his fare. Fenwick gave 
him the Willmer address. As if to prove his 
ability to drive expertly, he overhauled and 
passed other cars on Broadway with surpris¬ 
ing regularity. Once on the Drive, it was 
merely a matter of minutes before he stopped 
at the Willmer mansion. 

Fenwick paid him, adding a generous tip. 
“You did your best,” he commended. 

“Honest, boss, you make me feel like hell!” 
answered the chauffeur, gazing at the gratuity 


VOICES 


230 

uncertainly. He touched his cap gratefully 
as Fenwick ascended the steps. 

Boyden admitted him. 

“Let’s hurry back to the board,” he sug¬ 
gested. “I got a call at nine o’clock, but there 
wa’n’t any at nine thirty, and it’s quarter o’ 
ten now.” 

“I doubt if you get any more,” yawned 
Charlie, thumbing the pages of a New York 
City directory. He ran down a page until he 
encountered the listing of “Brason’s Ticket 
Agency.” “Did the toll-board operator tell 
you those calls to Newton and Forest Hills 
were from Hector 23,960?” he asked. 

“Yes,” answered Boyden, bewildered. 
“How did you know?” 

“I’ve just been down to the premises at 
which that telephone is located. Theater 
ticket agency. A veritable room full of tele¬ 
phones, including a P.B.X. That fellow 
could n’t have picked out a better place to get 
us all on the wire and to throw keys and 
switches so we could all listen in.” 

“How’d you know where to go?” demanded 
Seth. 

“Trinity chimes. Heard them ring while 
that fellow was talking to me over the tele- 


TRINITY CHIMES 231 

phone. Knew that he must be somewhere 
close by.” 

“Did ye catch him?” 

“No, but I saw him. It wasn’t Cartier.” 

“Who was it?” 

“I was n’t near enough to see him very well; 
in fact, the momentary glimpse I had occurred 
at a time when he was entering a taxicab. 
From the clothes he wore, he might easily have 
been mistaken for Otis King.” 

“But King was on the wire, talkin’ f’m 
Forest Hills!” protested Seth. 

“Exactly, Seth. In other words, we ’re 
stopped right there.” 

Riggs rushed into the room, trousers hastily 
pulled on over his pajamas, his manner ex¬ 
tremely agitated. 

“Mr. Willmer—er—Mr. Willmer, sir—” 

“What about him, Riggs?” 

“He’s dead or dying, sir. Please come 
quickly.” 

All three rushed from the room and up the 
stairs. They followed Riggs into his master’s 
bedchamber. Riggs switched on all the lights. 
Willmer was perfectly motionless, a more 
peaceful expression on his face than Boyden 
or Fenwick had ever witnessed. Fenwick 



232 


VOICES 


hurried to his side. He felt of Willmer’s 
hands, then threw back the covers and placed 
his ear to the financier’s chest. 

“Sleeping soundly, Riggs,” he advised. 
“Don’t worry. Why—what’s this?” 

The exclamation was caused by the discovery 
of a scrap of newspaper pinned to the finan¬ 
cier’s pillow. On the margin of it was typed: 

Drugged. We could have poisoned him or shot 
him. We are all-powerful. 

The Voices. 

He passed it to Boyden, and Riggs peered 
over Seth’s shoulder to read it. The butler’s 
knees sagged and his face paled as he grasped 
the significance of the note. 

“My God!” he muttered hoarsely. “Can’t 
you do anything, sir?” 

“I’m afraid I can’t to-night, Riggs,” he 
confessed, slowly and soberly. “How did you 
discover this?” 

“I retired early, sir, as Mr. Boyden directed, 
but I couldn’t get to sleep. I had a feeling 
that something was wrong. It seemed like 
hours that I lay there, and finally I could n’t 
stand it any longer. I slipped on some of my 


TRINITY CHIMES 233 

clothes and came in here. Mr. Willmer 
has n’t slept soundly in some time, but re¬ 
peated knocks on his door went unanswered, 
so I used my own key. The minute I saw him 
I suspected foul play. I called to him, but 
he didn’t answer. Then I rushed down to 
you.” 

Fenwick picked up the small glass that 
stood beside a decanter on the telephone-table 
near Willmer’s bed. A quantity of liquor 
remained in the glass. He smelled it and 
tasted it gingerly. 

“Laudanum,” he advised. “The whole bot¬ 
tle has probably been drugged. Put it in a 
safe place, Riggs.” 

“Has anything happened?” asked an anx¬ 
ious voice, and Lorraine Carewe glided silently 
into the room. She was a vision of loveliness 
in her satin, crape, and lace dressing-gown of 
flesh and lavender—colors which contrasted 
strikingly with her wealth of flowing coal- 
black hair. Some distance from the bed she 
halted, arrested by the serious expressions of 
the three men. 

“What is wrong?” she begged, looking from 
one to the other, the tears welling up in her 



234 VOICES 

eyes. Slowly, reluctantly, she approached the 
bed. 

Fenwick touched her on the shoulder. 

“Mr. Willmer is in no danger, Miss Ca- 
rewe,” he assured her. “Our concern is due 
to what might have happened. He has merely 
been drugged and is in a deep sleep.” 

“Drugged? Who—when—I don’t under¬ 
stand!” she protested. 

He led her to a chair and persuaded her to 
be seated. Then he repeated Rigg’s story, 
and showed her the note which had been 
pinned to Willmer’s pillow. 

She grew pale as she read it, although mak¬ 
ing an obvious effort to control herself. 

“This is the limit of my endurance, Mr. 
Bell,” she announced slowly. “I’ve been just 
as brave as I could be, but one simply can’t 
become inured to occurrences of this kind. 
I can’t answer for Mr. Willmer, but 
he must be told just what has occurred and be 
permitted to make his own decision.” 

“You ’re absolutely right,” answered Fen¬ 
wick gravely. “I’d hesitate to influence any 
action he might care to take after this. The 
inspector will be here in the morning, and 
we ’ll go over the whole story. There’s no 


TRINITY CHIMES 235 

immediate cause for alarm, however, and 
you’d better return to your room. Riggs 
and I will stay right here until morning.” 

She handed him the scrap of newspaper, 
but hesitated before reaching the door. 

“I’m frightened,” she confessed plaintively. 
“I’m for ever seeing shadows and hearing 
noises.” 

“Seth will escort you to your room,” sug¬ 
gested Fenwick. “Riggs had better rouse 
your maid; you ’ll feel safer if you have com¬ 
pany.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Bell,” she murmured 
gratefully. “You are as sympathetic and un¬ 
derstanding as a woman. Good night.” 

She took Seth’s arm and permitted him to 
lead her from the room. 

“A wonderful young lady, sir,” observed 
Riggs, his eyes glued admiringly to the door¬ 
way through which she had just departed. 

“Wonderful, Riggs,” repeated Fenwick. 

“She seems to have a high regard for 
you, sir, if I may say so.” 

“Does she, Riggs?” mused Fenwick, as if 
turning the statement over in his mind. “I 
wonder if it can be possible that you are 
right?” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE BARGAIN 

D ESPITE his all-night vigil in the finan¬ 
cier’s bedchamber, Fenwick, began prep¬ 
arations for a busy day early the next morn¬ 
ing. He left Riggs with Willmer, instruct¬ 
ing him to say nothing regarding the drug¬ 
ging episode until a conference was held later 
in the morning. Then he breakfasted with 
Seth, discussing the possibility of locating the 
station used by the voices and again instruct¬ 
ing him in the method to be followed. 

“I’d feel more optimistic if it was open 
wire, Charlie,” admitted Boy den, referring to 
the manner in which wires are strung overhead 
in suburban communities. In New York City 
virtually all wires used for the telephone, tele¬ 
graph, burglar-alarms, and fire-alarms are un¬ 
derground, and Seth had only a limited knowl¬ 
edge of the general scheme of conduits, cables, 
cable-boxes, and multiple conductors. 

“There’s nothing to it, Seth,” encouraged 

236 


THE BARGAIN 


237 

Fenwick. “Just follow my directions and 
you ’ll run across the equipment somewhere.” 

Boy den telephoned Pierson and obtained 
some necessary information. He had donned 
working-clothes and had provided himself with 
an installer’s badge and a kit of tools. 

“Well, so-long, Charlie,” he grinned. 

“Good luck, Seth. You ’re all prepared, I 
see.” 

“As it says in the ninth chapter o’ Reve¬ 
lations, fifteenth verse, ‘Prepared for an hour 
and a day and a month and a year.’ ” 

“Let us hope it will be an hour, Seth.” 

“Can’t tell. You ’ve given me a double as¬ 
signment. The thirty-fourth chapter of Isa¬ 
iah, eighteenth verse, asks, ‘Where is the re¬ 
ceiver?’ Charlie Fenwick is askin’, ‘Where is 
the transmitter and the receiver?’ ” 

“You ’ll find one where you find the other, 
Seth.” 

“Guess you ’re right, Charlie. So-long.” 

As soon as his assistant left he telephoned 
Newton and was advised by a servant that 
Corson was on his way to New York and 
would call on Willmer at ten o’clock. As he 
was about to leave the switchboard, Marie— 
Lorraine’s maid—entered the little room. 



238 VOICES 

“Mademoiselle ees not well zis morning,” 
she announced. “M’sieur Willmaire ees not 
well, too, and Riggs ’ave told me to telephone 
for ze doctaire.” 

He waited until she had finished the call. 

“What seems to be the trouble, Marie?” he 
asked. 

“M’sieur Willmaire has a spleeting head¬ 
ache,” she answered. 

“And Miss Carewe, Marie?” 

“Ah! You would know zat, too. Eet ees 
nairves, I t’eenk. Shall I say to mademoi¬ 
selle zat you eenquire?” She flashed him a 
teasing smile. 

“If you will be so kind.” 

“She wifi be glad, M’sieur Bell.” 

The vivacious Marie flitted from the room 
with a knowing smile, and Fenwick idled about 
the lower floor until Riggs came down. 

“How is Mr. Willmer, Riggs?” 

“He has a terrible headache, sir, and I think 
he suspects that something is wrong. He has 
a strong aversion to doctors, except for other 
people, but when I suggested calling on Dr. 
Robbins he protested very weakly, and finafly 
consented. Of course he may have been in¬ 
fluenced by Miss Carewe’s condition, since he 


THE BARGAIN 239 

insisted that the doctor see her first. If I’m 
not mistaken here he is now.” 

He admitted the physician, a man of about 
forty, with a seriously professional demeanor, 
Riggs showed him up-stairs, at the same time 
explaining that Willmer had probably been; 
drugged, and requesting that the fact be with¬ 
held from him for an hour or two. Dr. Rob¬ 
bins immediately grew suspicious and ques¬ 
tioned Riggs closely, but the fact that Inspec¬ 
tor Corson was expected at the house seemed 
to satisfy him. 

About twenty minutes later the physician 
left, and Riggs informed Fenwick that he had 
administered a sedative to Miss Carewe and 
had advised her to remain in bed. He had 
also prescribed for Willmer, and had some¬ 
what enraged the financier by recommending 
a stay of several weeks at a sanatorium. 

“Mr. Willmer wished to know if you were 
still here, and if Inspector Corson was ex¬ 
pected. I told him that you wished to hold 
a conference when the inspector arrives at 
ten o’clock. He just nodded and said he 
would see you both in the library. He also 
said he did n’t want Miss Carewe disturbed.” 

Corson arrived promptly, and the three men 


240 VOICES 

met in the room designated by Willmer. Cor¬ 
son began by describing the four-cornered 
conversation of the previous evening, includ¬ 
ing the threat of the voices to demonstrate 
their ability to harm the financier. At this 
point Fenwick took up the story, and told of 
his trip down town, his identification of the 
office within the shadow of Trinity from which 
the call had originated, and his pursuit of 
the man who had telephoned. He told of his 
chagrin at having the man elude him, and of 
his return to the house. Then he described 
the agitated appearance of Riggs as he called 
for assistance, the rush to Willmer’s room, and 
the discovery of the note typed on a scrap of 
newspaper. He took the note from his wal¬ 
let and handed it to Willmer. 

The financier read it and was silent for a 
long time. Then he passed the note to Cor¬ 
son. 

“You haven’t seen it, I believe,” he mut¬ 
tered in hollow tones. 

Corson examined it closely, but apparently 
regarded it of slight importance. 

“There’s just one thing to do, sir, and that 
is to pretend to submit to the demands of this 
gang. That fellow who asked me to use my 


THE BARGAIN 


241 


influence said that he would telephone you at 
noon to-day, and stipulated that you answer 
the telephone. My advice is for you to do so. 
Learn how much it is the blackmailers de¬ 
mand, obtain the money in any form they sug¬ 
gest, and find out where they want it delivered. 
I ’ll have a squad of men in the neighborhood, 
where ever it is, and we ’ll gather them in.’ 5 

The inspector sounded convincing, and Will- 
mer nodded eager assent, like a drowning man 
clutching a straw. 

“No doubt you ’re right, Corson,” he 
agreed. “What do you think, Bell? Shall I 
do it?” 

“It can’t do any harm to try it, sir,” he an¬ 
swered, rather surprised at the question, in 
view of Willmer’s denunciation of his efforts 
on the previous evening. 

“Don’t think me ungrateful, Bell,” he 
begged. “I appreciate all you have done. It 
was splendid of you to labor so strenuously in 
my behalf last night, after I had given way to 
my overwrought nerves. Now it’s a question 
of self-preservation. I must act, and act 
quickly. You will not mind if I follow the in¬ 
spector’s advice?” 

“Not at all,” responded Fenwick. 


242 VOICES 

“I should like you to remain here, so that 
you may confer and advise with the inspector, 
giving him such assistance as he may request. 
Will you do that?” 

Fenwick hesitated. 

“If the inspector wishes it,” he assented. 

“Glad to have your help, Charlie,” acknowl¬ 
edged Corson magnanimously. He tried to 
restrain a triumphant smile, but fell short of 
concealing it. 

“Professional jealousy, eh?” queried Will- 
mer, forcing a feeble smile. “Let’s work to¬ 
gether. I’m going to lie down and try to get 
rid of the effects of that damned drug. My 
mouth feels like a dusty desert. Any instruc¬ 
tion, Corson?” 

“I’m going to ask Fenwick to take the 
switchboard, sir. When that telephone-call 
comes in at noon he will connect you with the 
fellow and let you do the bargaining. Fen¬ 
wick will listen in, and we ’ll be sure to get 
everything perfectly straight.” 

Willmer nodded assent and went to his 
room. 

“I believe we ’re going to get somewhere,” 
exulted Corson. 


THE BARGAIN 243 

“Don’t be too optimistic,” cautioned Fen¬ 
wick. 

“I can’t help it; it’s a hunch. The fellow 
who receives Willmer’s money is going to have 
bracelets slipped on his wrists, surer than fate. 
Oh, by the way, Charlie, I’d like you to ex¬ 
amine all the telephone instruments in the 
house. Seems to me I once heard of a case 
where a man was shot by a cartridge placed 
inside a telephone receiver. The fellow who 
put the cartridge there called this chap up and 
yelled into the telephone until something or 
other got hot. That set off the cartridge, and 
the chap with the receiver to his ear was shot 
through the brain!” He walked up and down 
the room, smiling gleefully and darting quick, 
knowing glances at Fenwick. 

“Stick to your own line, inspector,” advised 
Charlie good-naturedly. “The case you 
heard of was in a story-book. If you like I ’ll 
examine the receiver in Willmer’s room. I 
imagine from your manner that you believe 
you have stumbled on the explanation to Pen¬ 
dleton Kirke’s death. You haven’t, I assure 
you. When I entered Kirke’s study, his tele¬ 
phone receiver was on the hook.” 


244 


VOICES 


“Sure you didn’t put it there?” demanded 
Corson, his smile disappearing. 

“Absolutely. You ’ll have to get another 
theory.” 

Disconcerted by Fenwick’s refusal to con¬ 
sider what he regarded as a positive answer to 
the mystery of Pendleton Kirke’s death, Cor¬ 
son paced the floor for half an hour, reviewing 
the entire tragedy from all angles and cross- 
examining Fenwick in an endeavor to obtain 
further facts. He was unable to evolve a 
plausible theory to supplant the ones pre¬ 
viously rejected by Fenwick, and gave 
the thing up in utter disgust and impa¬ 
tience. 

“You ’ll have to tell me, anyway, as soon as 
I round up the voices,” he reminded. 

“I will, inspector—when you round up the 
voices!” 

It was nearing noon, and Fenwick went to 
the switchboard on the lower floor. While 
awaiting the significant message he telephoned 
Diamond Jim Ordway and made an appoint¬ 
ment to visit that eccentric but intensely hu¬ 
man individual at his office at two o’clock in 
the afternoon. At ten minutes of twelve Cor¬ 
son joined them. 


THE BARGAIN 


245 


“A penny for your thoughts, Charlie,” he 
offered, observing the young wire-chief’s pre¬ 
occupied manner. 

“I was just thinking of that four-cornered 
conversation last night, and trying to visualize 
the miles of hard-drawn copper wire and tons 
of equipment it called into use. A year or 
two from now it* will be a comparatively sim¬ 
ple matter for a person to talk to thousands 
without any apparatus to speak of.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Radio; wireless telephony. Colonel Carty 
and some of his engineers believe it will be 
possible for the entire nation to hear the in¬ 
augural address of our next President. Think 
of it, man! Our War Department, if we have 
one, will be able to instantly mobilize an army 
of defense all over the country by means of a 
spoken word or two.” 

“Marvelous!” agreed Corson. “But won’t 
we have many more cases like the voices when 
that time arrives? And won’t it put a certain 
phonic criminologist out of business?” 

“The answer to both questions is ‘No,’ in¬ 
spector. Radio in its present development 
does not afford the privacy required by crimi¬ 
nals. As for my work, I don’t specialize in 


246 VOICES 

the telephone business; my specialty is the 
spoken word, regardless of the medium used 
to broadcast it.” 

“There’s the call!” exclaimed Corson eag¬ 
erly, crowding close to the switchboard. 

Fenwick picked it up, announcing, “Mr. 
Willmer’s residence.” At the calling party’s 
request to talk with Willmer he established a 
connection with the financier’s room and rang 
the bell. 

Willmer answered promptly. 

“You have decided to follow Inspector Cor¬ 
son’s advice?” queried the brusque, clear voice 
of the preceding evening. 

“Yes,” acknowledged Willmer. 

“It will cost you one hundred thousand dol¬ 
lars, Mr. Willmer. Upon payment of that 
sum the voices will permanently cease to 
bother you.” 

“When do you wish this money?” inquired 
Wilhner. 

“At one o’clock. In cash—one hundred 
bills of a thousand denomination. I will send 
an intermediary to your home for it in an 
hour.” 

“Any credentials?” asked Willmer. 


THE BARGAIN 247 

“None,” returned the voice. “He will 
merely ask for the money.” 

“What assurance have I that the voices will 
cease to annoy me?” 

“Nothing but the word of an unknown man. 
You will have to trust us as we are trusting 
you. Your friends and associates will regret 
it exceedingly if you attempt to double-cross 
us. You will be past regretting anything. 
The money must be ready for my man when 
he calls at one o’clock.” 

“It will be ready,” assured Willmer; and 
the unknown hung up his receiver. 

Fenwick repeated the conversation for Cor¬ 
son’s benefit. 

“One hundred thousand!” exclaimed Cor¬ 
son. “I wonder what deviltry the old boy’s 
been up to, that he should be called upon to 
pay such a price! Call headquarters for me, 
will you, Charlie?” 

Fenwick complied with his request, and in 
a few moments Corson was arranging to have 
a dozen plain-clothes men keep the Willmer 
home under surveillance. He issued orders 
that they were to take no action toward per¬ 
sons entering the house, but were to appre- 


248 VOICES 

hend any who might leave unless he vouched 
for them. 

As the call terminated Willmer entered the 
room. 

“Did you hear?” he asked. 

“Yes,” answered Corson. “Fenwick In¬ 
tended in and has told me what was said. 
Have you so huge a sum on deposit in one 
bank?” 

“Surely. Will it be necessary to actually 
withdraw it? I could arrange to have the 
bank say I did, if—” 

“Too thin,” interrupted Corson. “We will 
have to go through all the motions. Write 
your check and send some one to have it 
cashed immediately. The whole thing must 
look like a legitimate transaction up to the 
point where we make an arrest.” 

“I ’ll send Riggs,” decided Willmer, and 
went to his room to write the check. 

“How are you going to proceed?” inquired 
Fenwick. “Have you any plans?” 

“Don’t need any elaborate plans,” answered 
Corson. “When this bird shows up at one 
o’clock we ’ll look him over. If he’s some 
one we’ve suspected we ’ll nab him. If he 
seems to be an innocent or ignorant intermedi- 


THE BARGAIN 


249 


ary we ’ll have him shadowed, and he ’ll lead 
us to our man.” 

The two proceeded to the library to join 
Willmer. On the way up-stairs Riggs 
passed them, dressed for the street. He said 
that he had ordered Willmer’s car and was 
on his way to the bank to obtain the money. 
It was twenty minutes past twelve, and Riggs 
expected to make the trip to the Columbus 
Circle institution and return by a quarter of 
one, which would leave fifteen minutes before 
the agent of the voices would appear. 

As Riggs opened the street door a hearty 
voice rang out: 

“Hello, Riggs! Mr. Willmer at home?” 

“Yes, commissioner. He’s in his library.” 

“Never mind announcing me; I’ll run 
right up.” 

At the sound of the strange voice Corson 
and Fenwick halted on the staircase. As the 
huge form of the man appeared in the inner 
doorway Corson ran down the steps and 
greeted him with outstretched hand. 

“Glad to see you, commissioner,” he 
greeted. “But what on earth brings you 
here?” 

“I might ask the same question, Corson,” 


250 


VOICES 


beamed the other. “My business is strictly 
social. I trust you are not here in your 
official capacity?” 

Corson ignored the question and called to 
Fenwick. 

“I want you to meet Deputy Police Com¬ 
missioner Stacy,” he announced. “Commis¬ 
sioner, shake hands with Mr. Bell of the tele¬ 
phone company.” 

“The great inventor himself, I suppose,” 
grinned Stacy. “I should have expected 
to meet an older man.” 

Fenwick regarded with interest the huge, 
jovial dry-goods merchant whom the mayor 
had appointed as deputy police commissioner. 
The man had a winning personality, and 
Charlie mentally characterized him as a regu¬ 
lar fellow. 

“I stopped in to see Willmer for a minute,” 
said Stacy. 

“We were just going to join him in the 
library,” observed Corson. 

“Well, come along,” invited the commis¬ 
sioner. “My business isn’t private, if yours 
is n’t.” 

They ascended the stairs apd entered the li¬ 
brary together. 


THE BARGAIN 


251 


“Hello, you old fossil!” shouted Stacy, giv¬ 
ing Willmer’s hand a hearty grasp. 

“Old fossil yourself,” retorted Willmer. 
“You ’re losing your hair pretty fast, John.” 

“And feeling fine, Warren. You don’t 
look so well, though. What’s the trouble?” 

“Nothing much,” returned Willmer gruffly. 
“How’s Madeline?” 

“About as frisky and expensive as most 
flapper daughters. And Lorraine? Hope 
she’s at home. I’ve a message for both of 
you from Madeline. She’s arranged a yacht¬ 
ing party. Bermuda. Wants you both to 
come. The two kids can swim and ride, and 
we can fish and patronize the American bar at 
Nassau. What do you say?” 

Willmer hesitated. 

“I’d like Lorraine to go, John. She needs 
a change, and the trip would be excellent for 
her. But I’m afraid I can’t get away.” 

“Nonsense. We won’t sail for a week. I 
know Kirke’s death has been a terrible blow, 
but we can’t afford to lose you, too. Besides, 
it’s time young King assumed some responsi¬ 
bility. Take care of all the matters resulting 
from Pendleton’s death that really require 
your attention, and let Otis do the rest, 


252 VOICES 

We ’ll make the cruise as long or as short as 
you say.” 

Willmer presented what he regarded as 
further obstacles to the proposed trip, but 
Stacy lightly dismissed them. As he urged 
the financier to accompany him Riggs entered 
the room and, placing the envelope before his 
employer, retired. Willmer opened it, with¬ 
drawing a packet of new greenbacks. Fen¬ 
wick glanced at his watch. 

“I’ve told Riggs to watch the door and to 
bring the fellow right up when he comes,” 
whispered Corson, and Charlie nodded un- 
derstandingly. 

Stacy continued to urge Willmer to join 
the yachting party, and Willmer continued to 
offer objections. 

“Won’t you help me, gentlemen?” pleaded 
the commissioner. “All of you may come. 
That American bar is quite an institution. 
Better men than Willmer have fallen for it!” 

“You forget that some of us have to work 
for a living,” Corson pointed out. “Persuade 
Mr. Willmer, by all means, if you can.” 

“I don’t believe I can,” confessed Stacy. 
“Where’s Lorraine? If I can win her over I 
know that he ’ll come.” 


253 


THE BARGAIN 

Willmer apprised him of Lorraine’s slight 
indisposition, and Stacy insisted on seeing her. 
At Corson’s suggestion he and Fenwick went 
down-stairs. 

“Stacy’s quite a fellow,” commented Corson. 
“He does n’t let Willmer awe him a little bit. 
It’s one o’clock, Charlie, and that fellow 
has n’t shown up yet. I don’t imagine he will, 
either. It would require superlative nerve to 
visit a man’s home in broad daylight and steal 
a hundred thousand. Come to the window 
here. See that sporty fellow with the cane, 
passing the house? That’s Sheridan—one of 
my men. The rough-looking chap on the 
corner is Campbell, a regular bloodhound 
when we let him loose. The others must be 
around somewhere.” 

“What are you fellows conspiring about?” 
demanded Stacy, swinging down the stairs. 

Corson was so expectantly tense that he 
started nervously and then grinned sheepishly 
when he recognized the commissioner. 

“Well, I won out, boys,” boasted Stacy. 
“Lorraine’s coming, and so is Willmer.” 

Corson accompanied Stacy to the outer 
steps, and shook hands with him. 

“I ’ve got some men watching this house, 


254 


VOICES 


commissioner,” he whispered, “with instruc¬ 
tions to nab any one who comes out. I think 
they know you, but I’d better stay here un¬ 
til you ’re gone.” 

“That would be funny,” chuckled Stacy. 
“So-long, inspector.” 

As the commissioner entered his limousine 
Sheridan looked inquiringly toward Corson, 
who touched his badge significantly, at the 
same time shaking his head negatively. Sheri¬ 
dan signified that he understood, and the 
closed car swung up the Drive unmolested. 
Corson reentered the house and rejoined Fen¬ 
wick at the window. 

“Ten minutes past one,” announced Char¬ 
lie. “You’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t 
show up, won’t you, inspector?” 

“I ’ll say so,” growled Corson, nervously 
chewing on a dry cigar. 

“Corson!” exclaimed Willmer from the up¬ 
per floor. “Hey, Corson!” 

“Come, Charlie!” shouted the inspector. 
“I ’ll bet the fellow’s got in the back way and 
is up-stairs!” 

The two men ran up-stairs and stopped on 
the threshold of the library, sensing by Will- 


THE BARGAIN 255 

mer’s manner that something was wrong. 
The financier was ashen pale. 

“Did you get him?” he demanded. 

“Get who?” asked Corson. 

“Who? Good God! Who do you think? 
Stacy! He’s got my hundred thousand dol¬ 
lars!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


AND THERE CAME A VOICE 

W HAT nonsense is this?” demanded 
Corson, turning as white as Willmer. 
“Do you know who you are accusing?” 

“Of course I do,” fumed Willmer. “I’m 
accusing a deputy police commissioner, a repu¬ 
table business man, a man who’s been my 
friend for years! This comes of trusting you. 
You—boob!” 

He hesitated and bit the slang expression 
off sharply like a shot from a catapult. Cor¬ 
son was so taken back he could only stammer 
incoherently. 

“Joke. It’s a joke,” he repeated loudly, 
as if to lend conviction to his words. “Must 
be. Mistake somewhere—sure to be. I ’ll 
fix it up. Leave it to me.” 

“Yah! Leave it to you!” bellowed Will¬ 
mer. “I would n’t let you watch a ten-cent 
piece. Get out o’here and stay out!” 

“What happened, sir?” asked Fenwick. 

256 



THERE CAME A VOICE 257 

Willmer eyed him shrewdly. 

“I ’ll tie up to you, young fellow,” he an¬ 
nounced. “Stacy went in to see Lorraine and 
talked her into this trip. Then she talked me 
into it. I finally agreed to go. We discussed 
some of the details and then returned to 
the library. 

“ ‘That ends my social visit, Warren/ said 
Stacy, picking up the money. T’m the man 
who was to call for this. You ’re doing a wise 
thing. Sorry I can’t tell you more.’ 

“With that he says good-by and walks out 
of the room, leaving me so astonished I 
could n’t talk. I was petrified, I guess. I 
confidently expected him to walk back into the 
room any minute and throw the money back 
on the table. When he did n’t and I got my 
scattered wits together, I called for Corson, 
but it was too late then.” 

“Joke,” repeated Corson monotonously. 
“I ’ll straighten it out. I ’ll see Stacy; I ’ll 
see the mayor.” 

“Get out!” roared Willmer, and Corson left 
the room in a hasty and undignified manner. 

“Can you do anything, young man?” de¬ 
manded Willmer. 

“I still have nine and a half hours,” re- 


258 


VOICES 


turned Fenwick, “I Ve never stopped work¬ 
ing, and Boy den is out on the job now.” 

“I don’t think I ’ll ever get the money 
back,” declared Wilmer, “but I’d like to find 
out who the blackmailers really are.” 

“You don’t think Commissioner Stacy is in¬ 
volved?” 

“Certainly not. John Stacy is as straight 
as a string. He confidently believes he’s done 
me a great service. Now that it’s all over 
I’m not so sure but what he has.” 

“I think I can obtain the information you 
wish,” announced Charlie. “Whether you 
liked it or not, I was going to see this case 
through to the finish.” 

“Very well. Get busy, my boy, and see 
what you can do.” 

Fenwick left the house immediately, and 
promptly at two o’clock presented himself at 
Diamond Jim Ordway’s Broad Street offices. 
He sent in his card, and Ordway honored him 
by coming out in person to usher him into the 
luxurious inner office. 

“Got a fellow in there who’s trying to rob 
me,” he complained jocularly. “Wants me 
to buy a button opal for five times what it’s 


THERE CAME A VOICE 259 

worth. I ’ll get rid of him in a minute or 
two.” 

A little man, unmistakably Semitic, arose 
as they entered. 

“Take it away, Kempner,” ordered Dia¬ 
mond Jim, indicating the gorgeous fire-opal 
resting on a bit of tissue-paper on the desk. 
“I’m going to be busy.” 

“Thirty-six hundred?” suggested Kempner, 
in a final despairing effort at salesmanship. 

“Three thousand dollars,” returned Ordway, 
opening a check-book. “Which shall it be, 
‘Yes,’ or ‘Good afternoon’?” 

“ ‘Yes’ and ‘Good night,’ ” answered Kemp¬ 
ner, who was not without a sense of humor. 
He accepted Ordway’s check and departed. 
Diamond Jim passed the gem over to Fen¬ 
wick. 

“Worth five thousand,” he chuckled. “Prob¬ 
ably smuggled. Wish I could match it for 
cuff-links. Well, Charlie, what’s on your 
mind?” 

“Many things,” responded Fenwick. “I’m 
working for W^arren W^illmer. Willmer’s not 
very communicative, and at times I ’ve reached 
the point where he’s hindered rather than 


260 


VOICES 


helped me. I ’ve guaranteed to complete my 
work for him by eleven o’clock to-night. I 
can’t do it unless I learn all about Warren 
Willmer’s early life. He’s managed to keep 
out of ‘Who’s Who in America,’ and the news¬ 
papers know precious little about him. I 
come to you with the idea that you may be 
able to help me out.” 

“You came to the right shop, Charlie,” as¬ 
sured Ordway. “Willmer does n’t care very 
much for me; our natures seem to clash. He 
used to upbraid me every time we met for 
wasting money on gewgaws as he termed my 
collection of jewelry. Warren is n’t exactly a 
spendthrift you know. Well, sir, one fine day 
I took Tom Dickerson away from Willmer. 
Warren was paying Tom about three thou¬ 
sand a year to run a department. I offered 
Tom ten thousand. Willmer never forgave 
me. Tom had been with him for years. Of 
course I could tell you some things about Will¬ 
mer, but Tom can tell you everything.” 

“What could you tell me?” quizzed Fenwick. 

“Well, I know that he was born in Ithaca; 
that as a boy he sold newspapers on trains up¬ 
state, and that he met Art Carewe and hooked 


THERE CAME A VOICE 261 

up with him. They were pretty successful 
young men when they parted company. Will- 
mer went to New York and joined forces with 
Pendleton Kirke and Otis King, Senior. 
Carewe remained up-state and was comfort¬ 
ably situated financially until shortly before. 
his death.” 

“Was Art Carewe the father of Lorraine?” 
asked Charlie. 

“Yes, and a fine chap he was. You’d better 
get your information first-hand, however. 111 
take you in to Tom Dickerson. Tom will 
answer any questions you may ask.” 

Ordway led the way to an office scarcely less 
sumptuous than his own, and introduced Fen¬ 
wick to Dickerson, advising the latter of the 
purpose of Charlie’s visit. He then withdrew. 
Dickerson was a man of about fifty, who had 
grown up with the business of the triumvirate 
and had acted as a confidential assistant to 
Willmer. He was clean-cut, frank, and busi¬ 
nesslike, and answered Fenwick’s questions 
thoroughly, without wasting words. After a 
thirty-minute interview, Fenwick returned to 
Ordway’s office. 

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that I made 


262 


VOICES 


this visit,” he observed. “Your man Dicker- 
son has given me invaluable information. One 
of the two men I am after comes from Ithaca, 
and I have definitely established some facts 
regarding Wiltmer’s early life in that city 
which will aid me considerably. I was grop¬ 
ing in the dark before.” 

“Glad we were able to assist the famous 
phonic criminologist,” smiled Ordway. “Any¬ 
thing else I can do, Charlie? I suppose 
you ’ll be coming to me one of these days for 
advice regarding the purchase of a diamond 
solitaire?” 

Fenwick blushed. 

“Ah-ha! Hit the nail, did I? Who is it? 
The charming Lorraine Carewe, or that pretty 
little stenographer back in Springfield? Miss 
Garrison was her name, I think.” 

“You ’re somewhat premature,” Fenwick 
assured him. 

“Am I? I wonder. Warren Willmer 
thinks a lot of that ward of his. You’d best 
be careful!” 

“I’d best be going,” grinned Charlie. 
“Your conversation runs miles ahead of the 
facts. Thank you for the assistance you Ve 
given me. I appreciate it.” 


THERE CAME A VOICE 263 

Ordway waved a deprecating hand and in- 
vited Charlie to continue to call for assistance 
until his account was entirely squared. 

This was a reference to Fenwick’s recovery 
of the stolen jewels, and Charlie felt that he 
had never met a man so effusively grateful for 
a small service. 

He left Ordway’s office and decided to visit 
Branson’s Ticket Agency. The office was 
fairly busy when he arrived, and he had an ex¬ 
cellent opportunity to inspect the premises 
without exciting suspicion. It was divided into 
two parts. To the left of the entrance was the 
theatre ticket agency, with its racks of colored 
tickets, a long counter, telephone switchboard, 
and numerous shining black telephone instru¬ 
ments. The counter clerks, switchboard oper¬ 
ator, and assistants were all young women. 
The clientele of the place appeared to be ex¬ 
ceptionally high class. 

To the right of the entrance a dozen cabinet 
phonograph models were on display, while at 
a side counter and on the shelves behind it was 
a fair supply of disk phonograph records. 
Along the walls were glass-inclosed, sound¬ 
proof booths, equipped with phonographs, for 
the convenience of customers who wished to try 


264 


VOICES 


records before purchasing them. A dignified 
glass sign announced: 

BRANSON & BRANSON, DISTRIBUTORS 
CHAMPION PHONOGRAPHS 

A pleasant-faced woman of thirty ap¬ 
proached him. 

“Waited on?” she inquired. 

“I wish to see the proprietor,” advised 
Charlie. 

“I am Miss Branson.” 

“It may be rather difficult for me to explain 
my business, Miss Branson. It is in connec¬ 
tion with an occurrence at this establishment 
last evening. The police have undoubtedly 
advised you that some one entered last night 
and used your telephones.” 

“Yes?” Her manner became frigid. 

“May I ask if you are aware of the identity 
of the man?” 

“It was reported to me this morning, but 
neither my sister nor I credited the story. We 
thought it purely a figment of the officer’s 
imagination.” 

“There were two officers,” continued Fen¬ 
wick, “and I am in a position to corroborate 
their story.” 


THERE CAME A VOICE 265 

“May I ask why you are interested in the 
matter?” inquired Miss Branson. 

“I am a criminal investigator, Miss Branson, 
and am desirous of apprehending the man who 
used your telephone. He is wanted on a se¬ 
rious charge.” 

The woman hesitated. 

“I scarcely think I can help you. The 
police advise me that entrance was effected by 
means of a key. My sister and I have keys, 
but none of my employees are provided with 
them. We employ no men. Really, Mr— 
er—” 

“Bell,” replied Fenwick. 

“Mr. Bell, I think you had better apply to 
the two policemen for the information you 
require. They have promised to keep a watch¬ 
ful eye on the premises after hours. While 
we are annoyed at the incident, we are not 
particularly worried, since we feel that there 
is small possibility of theft on Broadway under 
the eyes of the police. I have n’t the slightest 
notion of who the fellow was.” 

“Do you know Mr. Otis King?” asked Fen¬ 
wick. 

“The millionaire? How ridiculous! Of 
course not!” 


266 


VOICES 


The door of one of the booths opened, and 
the strains of a vocal selection rang through 
the room. Charlie started, then stood as 
though transfixed. It was a lullaby the singer 
sang, in a voice of remarkable purity and with 
unusual clearness of enunciation. It was not 
these facts alone that stimulated his interest, 
however. Instinctively, intuitively, as the 
song continued, he recognized that the singer 
was the Man with a Hundred Voices! 

Fenwick specialized in the spoken word as a 
medium for detecting crime, and prided him¬ 
self on his unusual talent for recognizing 
voices, reading character from them, indentify- 
ing and remembering their peculiarities. As 
he listened every doubt vanished and he was 
firmly convinced that he had stumbled over the 
link that was ultimately to lead to the arrest 
of the arch-blackmailer. 

“What is that record?” he asked Miss Bran¬ 
son. 

She again hesitated, and appeared to be 
vexed. 

“A slumber song,” she answered. 

“Of course. But who is the singer?” 

“Algernon Botsford. Not very popular.” 


THERE CAME A VOICE 267 

“Well, I like his voice well enough to want 
to own that record.” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“The girl at the counter will sell you one.” 

At the counter he asked to see the record. 
The salesgirl obtained it for him, and he ex¬ 
amined the printed matter in the center of the 
disk. It was labeled “Slumber Song—Vocal 
—Algernon Botsford.” 

“I ’ll take it,” he announced. “Where are 
these records made?” 

“The Champion factory is over in Jersey. 
East Orange, I believe.” 

He thanked the girl, accepted the large flat 
parcel, and left the store. Without losing 
any time he returned to the Willmer home and 
went directly to the music-room. Carefully 
locking the doors, he unwrapped the record 
and placed it on the splendidly carved phono¬ 
graph model of Sheraton design with which 
the room was equipped. He sought to con¬ 
firm the conclusion he had previously reached. 

He listened impatiently to the short intro¬ 
duction. Then the singer took up the song, 
and Charlie strained his ears to catch and 
identify the peculiarities of the voice. He 


268 VOICES . 

had no wide technical knowledge of music, but 
as the selection progressed he was quick to 
note the unusual range of the soloist’s voice. 
Phonographic records of vocal selections are 
usually designated bass, barytone, or tenor. 
He was not slow to realize the reason for the 
omission in this case. The tones were con¬ 
vincingly barytone at the start, but when the 
refrain was reached the register appeared to 
be unmistakably tenor, and the singer nego¬ 
tiated the high notes with ridiculous ease. 
His was a freak voice. 

At the conclusion of the song he readjusted 
the needle and repeated it. The voice was 
that of the man he sought; of that he was sure. 
It was a familiar voice, too, but defied iden¬ 
tification. He doubted if he would recognize 
it, were he in the presence of the singer, since 
his recollection of its strange qualities seemed 
to be based almost entirely on the mysterious 
telephone conversations. 

The phonograph, like the telephone, pro¬ 
duced the same slight distortations in the hu¬ 
man voice. Algernon Botsford, he decided, 
was the Man with a Hundred Voices, but who 
was Algernon Botsford. 

Hastily he consulted a telephone directory 


THERE CAME A VOICE 260 

and, obtaining the telephone number of the 
Champion Phonograph Company, placed a 
call. 

“I should like to speak with the man in 
charge of your vocal artists,” he said, when his 
call was answered. 

“I will connect you with Mr. Poole,” the 
private branch exchange operator told him. 
After a short wait a masculine voice answered. 

“My name is Bell, Mr. Poole. I’d like to 
know if you can give me any information re¬ 
garding Algernon Botsford, one of your 
artists.” 

Mr. Poole chuckled. 

“Who are you, Mr. Bell? A rival phono¬ 
graph man, or a theatrical booking agent? 
What kind of information do you want?” 

“I’m a telephone man, Mr. Poole, and 
merely wish to confer with Mr. Botsford re¬ 
garding some transmission and reproduction 
experiments I Ve been making which involved 
one of his records. Where and how may I get 
in touch with him, please?” 

Poole hesitated. 

“I don’t know that I can help you, Mr. 
Bell,” he answered. “The artist’s real name 
is not Algernon Botsford. He does not wish 


270 


VOICES 


us to divulge his real name for personal 
reasons. I don’t care to assume responsibility 
for furnishing the information, but if you ’ll 
hold the wire I ’ll put the matter up to our 
general manager.” 

Fenwick thanked him and waited. In five 
minutes Poole returned. 

“Our G. M. also refuses to furnish the in¬ 
formation. He believes that you should ob¬ 
tain it from Mr. Stewart, our president.” 

“How can I get in touch with Mr. Stewart?” 
asked Fenwick. 

“I’m afraid you can’t. He’s in San Fran¬ 
cisco.” 

“H-m. Stung again,” mused Fenwick. 
“Could you tell me where he is stopping?” 

“He always stops at the St. Francis Hotel,” 
advised Poole. “If you ’re very anxious 
you’d better write him at once, as he ’ll be 
starting East within a few days.” 

Charlie shook his head dubiously as he hung 
up the receiver. Once more he had been 
balked at the very threshold of success. He 
removed the record from the machine, placed 
it in its paper jacket, and carried it up to his 
room. Upon endeavoring to use his extension 
telephone he found that it was not connected 


THERE CAME A VOICE 271 

with central, and his signal apparently went 
unnoticed in the housekeeper’s room. 

He slammed the receiver on the hook and 
decided to use the instrument in the library, 
which was usually connected with a trunk. In 
the library, however, he encountered Warren 
Willmer. The financier was reading the news¬ 
papers and appeared to be in fairly good 
spirits. 

“How are you feeling, sir?” asked Fenwick. 

“Fine. Learn anything.” 

“Quite a bit, sir. The trail is apparently 
leading us up-state. In fact, I should n’t be 
surprised if it would take us to Ithaca, your 
old home town.” 

Willmer glowered. 

“That so?” he snapped testily. “H-m. 
Yes, I supposed it would. What else?” 

“I’ve found out the name of our mystery 
man.” 

Willmer leaned forward anxiously. 

“Who is it?” he demanded. 

“He calls himself Algernon Botsford,” said 
Fenwick. “Ever hear the name?” 

“Never.” 

“I thought not. It’s assumed. I’ve been 
trying to learn his real name. Unfortunately, 


272 


VOICES 


there’s only one man who can tell me, and 
he’s in San Francisco.” 

Willmer studied Fenwick reflectively. 

“Young man,” he announced deliberately, 
“you ’re either the sweetest faker I ever met or 
you ’re having an unprecedented run of hard 
luck. Which is it?” 

“Hard luck, sir. But I still have seven 
hours, remember. I’m going to ask this chap 
in Frisco to give me Botsford’s real name and 
after that it will be plain sailing.” 

“He’s over three thousand miles away,” ob¬ 
jected Willmer. “How are you going to ask 
him?” 

Fenwick laid his hand on the telephone 
instrument. 

“By means of this,” he smiled. “The tele¬ 
phone is going to help me clean up on time. 
Were a voice loud enough to be heard from 
New York to San Francisco it would take the 
sound four hours to travel that distance 
through the air. It would take me four hours 
more to get the answer. That would mean 
eight hours, and I have only seven. But, once 
I get my party on the wire, this magic instru¬ 
ment will speed my voice to Frisco in one- 


THERE CAME A VOICE 273 

fifteenth of a second, or at the rate of fifty- 
six thousand miles per second!” 

“Some traveling!” commented Willmer. 
“Who’s going to foot the bill?” 

Fenwick considered it good policy to indulge 
the millionaire in his parsimony. 

“I sort of figured on charging it up to Mr. 
Reeves,” he advised. 

“Good enough 1” approved Willmer, “Go 
ahead!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


CORSON IS ENLIGHTENED 

W ILLMER sat listening while Fenwick 
placed his call to Mr. Stewart at San 
Francisco on a person-to-person basis. 

“How is Miss Carewe?” asked Charlie as he 
replaced the receiver. 

“Much better,” responded Willmer. “She’s 
quite fed up with lying in bed all day and 
threatens to join us at dinner this evening, pro¬ 
viding we taboo all references to the voices. 
Young King is coming to take dinner with 
us at Lorraine’s invitation. I have a sneaking 
notion that Otis intends to pop the question 
this evening. They ’ll make a splendid couple, 
Bell.” 

Fenwick was silent. 

“What’s the matter?” demanded Willmer. 
“You don’t seem to enthuse over the idea.” 

“I shall certainly make it a point to con¬ 
gratulate both of them,” advised Fenwick, “if 
Miss Carewe accepts King.” 


CORSON IS ENLIGHTENED 275 

“She will,” assured Willmer. “She’s dis¬ 
couraged him, half-heartedly, in the past, but 
I have n’t any doubt regarding her attitude 
now.” 

“You won’t mind if I ask Inspector Corson 
to join us after dinner?” queried Fenwick. 

“What for?” demanded Willmer bluntly. 

“Corson’s worked hard, Mr. Willmer, and 
is deserving of consideration. I think we 
should ask him to sit in at the conclusion of 
the case.” 

“He let Stacy walk off with my money,” 
objected Willmer. 

“If his scheme had been successful you’d 
be singing his praises right now, sir. It turned 
out disastrously and you ’re condemning him. 
Inspector Corson is a capable and efficient 
police officer. I regret that I didn’t see fit to 
play fair with him, but his manner nettled me. 
It is my fault that he has n’t made better prog¬ 
ress on your case.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve permitted him to spend most of his 
time running down the murder of Pendleton 
Kirke. I’ve made it difficult for him to solve 
the mystery of Kirke’s death. He assumed 
that there was some relation between that 


VOICES 


276 

tragedy and the voices, and lost considerable 
time endeavoring to substantiate his theory. 
If you ’ll sanction his presence this evening 
I ’l 1 go into that matter and acquaint all of you 
with the facts in the case.” 

“I’m willing,” Willmer grumbled. 

“Good enough.” 

“We dine at seven. Better have him here at 
eight thirty. Where’s Boyden?” 

“I don’t know,” confessed Fenwick. “He ’s 
been gone all day. I hardly think we need 
worry about him, though. Seth’s trying to 
find the instrument that is cut in on your line, 
and he’s apparently having a hard time of it.” 

“Perhaps it was removed just as soon as 
Stacy walked off with my money,” Willmer 
conjectured. 

“That sounds reasonable,” said Charlie. 

“I should have thought the fellow would 
have had the courtesy to acknowledge receipt 
of the money. Then I’d feel sure that this 
wretched business was really ended.” 

Fenwick smiled. 

“It’s ended,” he assured the financier. 
“I’m so positive of it that I’m going to my 
room to pack Seth’s things and my own. 


CORSON IS ENLIGHTENED 277 

We ’ll take the first train back to Springfield 
in the morning.” 

“Quite confident, are n’t you? Don’t you 
intend to see Reeves before you return?” 

“Only if I fail. If I am successful I shall 
expect you to acquaint Mr. Reeves with the 
fact.” 

Willmer nodded approvingly. 

“Good dope,” he commented, “There’s a 
great deal of the actor about you, my boy. 
You seem to have a flair for the dramatic.” 

“I love it,” confessed Fenwick frankly. “I 
always like to stage-manage my shows. An 
audience helps, too. I’m glad you’ve per¬ 
mitted me to invite Corson, and that Otis King 
is to be with us. Until I hear from Stewart 
at Frisco I’m going to ask Riggs and the rest 
of the servants not to leave the house. Miss 
Carewe will be with us, of course. The only 
characters we lack are James Cartier and—- 
Algernon Botsford!” 

“They seem to be the two most important 
characters,” reminded Willmer dryly. “We ’ll 
leave Lorraine out of our council of war. 
She’s had a bad attack of nervousness, and is 
just about shaking it off. No need of alarm- 


VOICES 


278 

ing her again. I ’ll be glad when we join 
Stacy’s yachting party.” 

“Does Miss Carewe know of Mr. Stacy’s 
part in the occurrences of this noon?” 

“Of course. She’s only two doors away 
from this room, and heard me shout to Corson. 
I had to tell her. She still thinks it a huge 
joke, just as I did, at first. By the way, Bell, 
what did you mean by saying that you wanted 
to be sure that Riggs did not leave the house 
until after you heard from Frisco?” 

Fenwick shrugged his shoulders and spread 
his palms non-committally. 

“Who can tell, sir?” 

-The financier seemed lost in thought. 

“I wonder if you ’re right,” he mused. His 
jaw straightened. “If you are,” he declared, 
“I ’ll never trust a living soul again.” 

“I don’t want to destroy your faith in hu¬ 
man nature, sir. You place the wrong con¬ 
struction on my anxiety to have Riggs within 
doors. It’s a purely impersonal proposition 
at the present time. As a matter of fact, I’m 
somewhat more anxious to be assured of your 
presence this evening. You won’t disappoint 
me, will you?” 

“That’s a hell of a thing to say!” snapped 


CORSON IS ENLIGHTENED 279 

Willmer. “If I was n’t afraid of losing my 
temper I’d ask you what you meant by it.” 

The ringing of the telephone bell relieved 
the situation. Fenwick answered. It was the 
long-distance operator calling to report that 
Stewart was not expected at the hotel until 
seven o’clock, and that arrangements would 
be made to establish a connection at that time. 

Charlie advised Willmer. 

“Seven o’clock in San Francisco means ten 
o’clock here,” he observed. “More delay.” 

“You ’re a Jonah,” commented Willmer 
good-naturedly as he left the room. 

Charlie called Pierson, the Riverside wire- 
chief, in an endeavor to obtain information 
regarding Boy den. The wire-chief reported 
that he had received several calls from Seth 
during the day, but that he had no definite 
knowledge of where he might be found or what 
he had accomplished. 

Fenwick then telephoned Corson, and after 
some persuasion obtained the inspector’s prom¬ 
ise that he would be present at 8:30. He 
then went to his room, packed his bag and 
Seth’s, and snatched a little sleep. 

Shortly before seven o’clock Otis King 
arrived and joined Willmer, Fenwick, and 


280 VOICES 

Lorraine Carewe at dinner. Seth had not 
appeared, and Fenwick began to worry. 
The dinner was not a huge success, although 
King endeavored to imbue it with life, chaffing 
and jesting with characteristic ease. 

Willmer, reflecting on the manner in which 
he had been relieved of a tremendous amount 
of money, was in no mood to respond to King’s 
sallies. Fenwick was tense with excitement 
and expectation regarding the development he 
anticipated later in the evening, and Lorraine 
Carewe had not fully recovered from her indis¬ 
position and merely rewarded King’s best ef¬ 
forts with a faint smile. The conversation 
was forced and lacked spontaneity, since none 
of them could quite banish the fact that grim 
tragedy had stalked among them and that 
Pendleton Kirke was dead. 

They did not leave the table until Riggs an¬ 
nounced the presence of Corson. 

“We ’ll see Mr. Corson in the library, 
Riggs,” said Willmer, proceeding in that di¬ 
rection. 

“Shall I see you before you leave us?” asked 
Lorraine, directing her question to Fenwick. 

“I shall probably leave about eleven o’clock,” 


CORSON IS ENLIGHTENED 281 

he ventured optimistically. “I would like to 
say good-bye.” 

“That’s rather late,” she murmured with a 
slight frown. Then shyly, “I will make it a 
point to be in the music-room at ten, though.” 

“So will I,” he promised, thrilled by the im¬ 
plied interest she took in him. 

King approached as she was moving away. 

“I ’ll join you in the music-room in a minute,' 
Lorry,” he observed. “I want to have a word 
with Bell.” 

The girl nodded and moved off, leaving the 
two young men. King tendered Fenwick a 
cigar, accepted a light, and paused as if uncer¬ 
tain as to how to begin. 

“This is a rather delicate proposition, Bell,” 
he began, “and I don’t know just how to 
handle it, so I’m going to do it just as my dad 
would have. The governor was a great hand 
for frankness and plain speaking, and I ’ve 
always felt he had the right idea.” 

Fenwick concurred with a nod of the head, 
and King continued. 

“I’m not blind. Bell; in fact, I pride my¬ 
self on being gifted a bit in sizing up people. 
You are interested in Lorraine Carewe. If 


282 


VOICES 


I’m wrong in any of my statements I wish 
you’d correct me.” 

Fenwick avoided King’s eyes and blew a 
smoke ring. 

4 ‘Continue,” he suggested somewhat uncom¬ 
fortably. 

“I have asked Miss Care we to do me the 
great honor of becoming my wife, and twice 
she has refused. To-night—in a few minutes, 
in fact—I shall ask her again. I am hoping 
that on this occasion she will regard my pro¬ 
posal with favor. I might add that Mr. Will- 
mer knows of my intentions and indorses them. 
I am telling you this merely to obviate any em¬ 
barrassment which might result for either of 
us if we were unaware of the facts. Perhaps 
you may have some disclosures of a similar 
nature to make. If you have I ’ll be glad to 
listen.” 

Fenwick made a heroic effort to repel the 
sheer diffidence that always asserted itself 
when he was confronted with a matter involv¬ 
ing sentiment. That he succeeded was un¬ 
doubtedly due to King’s manner of presenting 
the subject. He walked over to the young 
financier and gripped his arm. 

“King,” he said, “you ’re a regular fellow. 


CORSON IS ENLIGHTENED 283 


How you suspected or knew the state of my 
feelings is a mystery to me. I don’t know an¬ 
other man with whom I could rationally dis¬ 
cuss a matter of this kind. I’m flustered and 
uncomfortable as it is. I’ve know Miss 
Carewe for only two days, and I ’ll admit that 
I’m pretty hard hit. For an hour I’ve been 
trying to decide whether or not it would be 
unmitigated nerve if I asked to be numbered 
among her friends, and to hint at the respect 
and regard I feel toward her. Good Lord, 
I’d never dare go further than that!” 

“Why not?” queried King in a matter-of- 
fact manner. 

“There are any number of reasons,” an¬ 
swered Fenwick. “Miss Carewe does n’t even 
know my real name. She’s the ward of a 
millionaire; I’m a telephone wire-chief, re¬ 
ceiving a modest salary. I’ve made her ac¬ 
quaintance by chance, and could scarcely pre¬ 
sume to impose on Mr. Willmer’s hospital¬ 
ity.” 

“Bosh!” pronounced King coolly. “Lor¬ 
raine is almost penniless, and is earning her 
own living. She has no social pretensions and 
is absolutely democratic. I see nothing pre¬ 
sumptuous whatever in your desire to acquaint 


284 


VOICES 


her with the state of your feelings. She’s 
interested in you, I know. However, you are 
the best and final judge. I Ve told you what 
I thought you should know.” 

“I appreciate it,” Fenwick assured him. 
“If felicitations are in order when next we 
meet, I want you to know right now that there 
will be nothing insincere about those I will 
offer.” 

“Thank you,” responded King with a firm 
clasp of the hand. “I ’ll see you later.” 

When Fenwick entered the library Willmer 
and Corson were silently smoking, and the 
situation was apparently constrained. The 
inspector’s pride had suffered grievously, as a 
result of Willmer’s hasty and intemperate dis¬ 
missal of him earlier in the day. Conversation 
consisting largely of generalities had failed to 
restore the entente cordiale , and, in an en¬ 
deavor to relieve the situation, Charlie im¬ 
mediately introduced a topic of mutual 
interest. 

“While we are waiting,” he announced, “I 
think it might be a good plan to consider the 
matter of Pendleton Kirke’s death.” 

The two men showed immediate signs of 
interest. 


CORSON IS ENLIGHTENED 285 


“Why not wait for King?” suggested Will- 
mer. 

“No need to,” advised Fenwick. “King 
knows as much about it as I do. As I under¬ 
stand it, Mr. Kirke received telephonic mes¬ 
sages from the voices, just as his partners did. 
Mr. Willmer urged him to arm himself, fearing 
physical injury, and prevailed upon him to 
accept a box of cartridges designed for an 
automatic revolver. This was night before 
last. Kirke had no knowledge of firearms, but 
had a notion that the ammunition would serve 
for a somewhat antiquated revolver which he 
had at home. He dropped the cartridges into 
his pocket, and King then drove him to New¬ 
ton. Arriving at his home—” 

“On the way to his home,” interrupted Cor¬ 
son, “Kirke and King quarreled. That’s im¬ 
portant.” 

Fenwick smiled. 

“As Inspector Corson points out,” con¬ 
tinued Fenwick, “Kirke and King quarreled 
on the way home. King admits that the 
quarrel was due to his belief that Kirke could 
clear up the mystery of the voices if he cared 
to be frank. Arriving at the house, Kirke re¬ 
quested King to wait while he obtained some 


286 


VOICES 


documents requiring the young man’s sig¬ 
nature. Kirke was admitted by Peters, his 
butler, and he seized the opportunity to request 
Peters to hunt up the old revolver previously 
referred to. Then he entered his study. 

“At my request Mr. King entered the house, 
and we conversed for a few moments while 
Peters went to the trunk-room to find the re¬ 
volver. Suddenly we heard a report like a 
revolver-shot, and the rooms were plunged in 
darkness. King shouted for Peters, and the 
butler came down-stairs with the old revolver 
in his hand. We went to the switch-box, 
located a blown fuse, replaced it, and restored 
the lights. Then we hurried to Kirke’s study 
and found his lifeless body. The cartridges 
given him by Mr. Willmer were scattered all 
over his desk and rug.” 

“We’ve been all over this before,” objected 
Corson. “You ’re not telling us anything 
new!” 

“I’m going to in a moment, inspector. 
After Peters telephoned Dr. Rush at my re¬ 
quest he returned to Kirke’s study to assist me. 
The room was very dimly lit by an electrolier 
depending from the ceiling, and I requested 
more light. Peters brought me a brass desk- 


CORSON IS ENLIGHTENED 287 

light which he had cleaned for Mr. Kirke, and 
we placed it on the desk and plugged it in. 
Then we searched for the fifty cartridges, and 
found only forty-nine. One of them was miss¬ 
ing. Suddenly I noticed a perforation in a 
letter-file across the room. It told me the 
whole story. The empty cartridge-shell had 
perforated the hollow file! I verified my sus¬ 
picions and found the cartridge inside the file. 
I sent the file out to King’s car and brought it 
back to New York with me.” 

“Wait a minute; wait a minute!” exclaimed 
Corson excitedly. “I see it all! That was a 
mean trick to play on me, Charlie.” 

“I fail to see anything at all,” announced 
Willmer, bewildered. 

“He covered up the evidence,” protested 
Corson. “He was perfectly right; Kirke’s 
death was neither murder nor suicide!” 

“Then what was it?” demanded the finan¬ 
cier. 

“I ’ll let Corson tell you, now that he has all 
the facts,” suggested Charlie. 

“Easy,” assured Corson. “Kirke was in the 
room for a few minutes while King and Fen¬ 
wick were talking. He may have been search¬ 
ing his pockets for the key to the center drawer 


288 


VOICES 


of his desk, which contained the papers he 
sought. As he felt in his pocket he encount¬ 
ered the box of cartridges. He threw them on 
his desk, and the paper box broke, scattering 
them all about. Simultaneously the shot 
occurred and the lights went out. Pendleton 
Kirke’s death was accidental!” 

“Right,” agreed Charlie. 

“But what mysterious agency discharged 
the cartridge?” queried Willmer. 

“Kirke was probably seated before the desk 
when he tossed the cartridges on it,” explained 
Corson. “Flush with the glass top of the desk 
where it rested against the wall was an electric 
light socket. The key was turned on. One 
of the cartridges entered this socket, and the 
current immediately caused the metal base of 
the cartridge to melt. It was discharged at 
Kirke in almost the same manner that it would 
have been fired from a revolver!” 

“Is that possible?” demanded Willmer, 
turning to Fenwick. 

“It happened, sir. When the cartridge 
came in contact with the current a bow of flame 
was produced by the arc-ing, as an electrician 
would word it, and the cartridge was dis¬ 
charged. The thing can be demonstrated at 


CORSON IS ENLIGHTENED 289 

any time by an open socket and a cartridge. 
The shell was propelled from the socket with 
considerable force, crossed the room and per¬ 
forated the file.” 

“Poor Kirke!” murmured Willmer. “And 
I gave him those cartridges.” 

“Your motives could scarcely be criticized, 
sir,” observed Fenwick. “It was an acci¬ 
dent.” 

“The newspapers must be advised,” decided 
Willmer. “That is important from every an¬ 
gle. Pendleton Kirke’s death was accidental. 
But how was it, Inspector Corson, that you 
failed to recognize the facts earlier?” 

“When I arrived the desk-lamp was 
plugged in the socket,” Corson pointed out. 
“Fenwick failed to inform me that it had been 
placed on the desk subsequent to the tragedy 
and that he had removed the file. Why did 
you conceal the information from me?” 

The inspector’s tone was somewhat bitter. 

“It was scarcely ethical, I will admit,” Fen¬ 
wick answered. “Your manner nettled me, 
however, and I felt sure that you would solve 
the problem in no time at all. If you did n’t 
I figured that you would leave me severely 
alone, while I engaged in a duel with the 


290 


VOICES 


voices. A probable murder would look like 
bigger game to you.” 

“And I fell for it,” mused Corson disgust¬ 
edly. “I deserved the treatment I got. The 
solution was right under my nose all the time.” 

Otis King strolled into the room, his hands 
deep in his trousers’ pockets, and a significant 
expression on his face. 

“May I sit down and listen in?” he asked. 

“Sure,” assented Willmer, eying him 
keenly. “How’d you make out?” 

“Rotten!” answered King dejectedly. 
“I’m as undesirable as ever, I guess!” 


CHAPTER XIX 

AT TEN O’CLOCK 


S OON after King joined the group in the 
library Seth Boyden put in an appear¬ 
ance. The little man had lost his chipper, 
agile appearance and was unmistakably fa¬ 
tigued. Fenwick offered him a chair, and 
Seth dropped into it listlessly. 

“What luck?” demanded Charlie. 

“None at all,” responded Seth wearily. 
“Then, too, mebbe I’ve been lucky. I don’t 
know for sure.” 

“Suppose you tell us your experiences.” 
“Sure. -There are quite a number o’ high- 
class duplex apartment-houses around here. 
I’ve been in all of ’em. They all have cable- 
boxes in the basement, the house-cable run¬ 
ning from the street. Each contains about 
twenty-five cable-conductors, or pairs. Some¬ 
times the terminals or conductors are multi- 
pled in several houses on the block. I 
learned all this from Pierson. The pairs for 


292 


VOICES 


this house appear in the house cables in three 
near-by apartment-houses.” 

“Just a minute, Seth,” interrupted Corson, 
who had gained more than ordinary know¬ 
ledge of telephony through his previous as¬ 
sociation with Fenwick. “As I understand 
it, each of these pairs or conductors is the ter¬ 
minal of a telephonic circuit. There are 
twenty-five in a house-cable. How would the 
voices know which pair to select if they con¬ 
templated tapping the wire or cutting in a sta¬ 
tion?” 

“They’d have to do just what a telephone 
man would do,” said Seth. “They’d take 
one pair at a time and ask the operator the 
telephone-number, until they got the one they 
wanted.” 

I see. 

“I tried the three apartments and one pri¬ 
vate residence,” continued Seth, “and nary a 
thing did I find. Cable-box looked all right 
in every case, and no signs of a cut-in instru¬ 
ment. There did n’t seem to be any logical 
reason for doin’ it, but I determined to inspect 
all the telephone equipment in each place I 
visited. That’s what I’ve been doin’, and I 


AT TEN O’CLOCK 293 

can see now how foolish I ’ve been to lose so 
much time.” 

“So you really haven’t accomplished a 
thing?” queried Willmer. The question was 
directed with the idea of arousing Boy den, and 
Fenwick recognized that fact. 

“That’s not quite fair, Mr. Willmer,” he 
interposed before Boy den could answer. 
“You pointed out this afternoon that it would 
be logical for the voices to disconnect the hid¬ 
den station now that they have no further use 
for it. Would n’t that account for Seth’s 
failure to find it?” 

“He was looking for it all morning,” pointed 
out Willmer, “and it was used at noon.” 

“True,” agreed Charlie. “For that reason 
I feel that he should have found it.” He 
turned to Seth. “I know you ’re tired, Seth, 
but you’ve got to get busy again. There’s 
only one more place to look. Have a try, and 
when you come back all I want you to say is 
‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ ” 

Boy den jumped from his chair, his dejection 
vanishing completely. 

“I get you, Charlie,” he announced. “It’s 
got to be ‘Yes.’ ” 


294 


VOICES 


“That’s right, Seth,” repeated Fenwick. 
“It’s got to be ‘Yes.’ ” 

The little man hurried from the room, and 
Willmer, King, and Corson regarded Fen¬ 
wick inquiringly. 

“Two little words are all I need to com¬ 
plete the entire case,” advised Charlie. 

“What are they?” quizzed Corson. 

“I want ‘Yes’ from Boyden, and a name 
from San Francisco.” 

The telephone rang, and Fenwick hurried 
to answer it. The long-distance operator 
announced that she had obtained his party in 
San Francisco, and inquired if he was ready. 

“Hello, Mr. Stewart,” began Charlie. 
“My name is Bell. I am employed by the 
telephone company and have been engaged in 
some transmission experiments involving the 
use of phonograph records.” 

“Yes, Mr. Bell,” answered Stewart; and the 
connection was so good that Fenwick could 
not conceive of the speaker’s being more than 
three thousand miles distant. “What can I 
do for you?” 

“I used one of your records, and now find it 
necessary to get in touch with the artist who 
made it. His name is Algernon Botsford, 


AT TEN O’CLOCK 


295 


but your factory people at East Orange tell 
me it is a professional name and refuse to 
divulge the real one. They referred me to 
you. Will you furnish me with the name and 
address?” 

The three men watched Fenwick expect¬ 
antly as he picked up a pencil and drew a 
writing-pad toward him. 

“No, I won’t forget it,” he promised Stew¬ 
art. “Thank you very much.” He failed 
to use the pencil, however, and Corson seemed 
disappointed. 

“Well, who is Algernon Botsford?” de¬ 
manded Wilmer as the conversation termi¬ 
nated. 

Fenwick deliberately consulted his watch 
and smiled. 

“Ten o’clock,” he murmured. “I’ve a very 
brief engagement with Miss Carewe at ten, so 
you ’ll have to excuse me for a few minutes. 
Besides, I only have one of my two words. 
I’m still waiting for Seth.” 

In the music-room he found Lorraine strum¬ 
ming the keys of the piano idly and softly. 

“How punctual!” she commented. 

“It’s surprising that I’m not ahead of 
time,” he assured her, 


296 


VOICES 


“And are you through with the case,” she 
asked, “and ready to leave us? Tell me, who 
is the Man with a Hundred Voices?” 

“I’m not quite through,” he answered 
gravely, “although I know his name. There 
is still half an hour’s work to be done, and 
Seth is doing it. Until he finishes I don’t care 
to divulge the name. I might be wrong, you 
see, and would lose considerable prestige.” 

“You are discretion itself, Mr. Bell. How 
does Mr. Willmer seem this evening? He in¬ 
sists that the ridiculous transaction in which 
Mr. Stacy participated to-day is serious, al¬ 
though I’ve tried to persuade him that it’s a 
joke.” 

“You’ve done your part, then,” commented 
Fenwick. “On the whole, I should say that 
Mr. Willmer’s state of mind is better than it 
has been in days. He actually seems relieved, 
and the loss of the money does n’t seem to have 
worried him as much as one would believe. I 
think that if he were assured that the trouble 
was over he’d be perfectly reconciled to the 
whole thing. This afternoon he remarked 
somewhat indignantly that the voices could at 
least have acknowledged receipt of the money 
they received.” 


297 


AT TEN O’CLOCK 

“Is n’t that like the old dear? I ’ll wager 
he said it seriously and meant it humorously. 
So you expect ta know all about the voices 
within a half-hour? I won’t hear the story 
until after you’ve gone, will I?” 

“You won’t, unless you join us,” he an¬ 
swered. “Why not come in for a few minutes ? 
It would be nice of you. I may never see you 
again, you know.” 

“How lugubrious!” she laughed. “One 
would fancy you really meant it. But Mr. 
Willmer objects; he thinks the voices are bad 
for my nerves. Shall I risk his displeasure, 
and join you men in the library shortly?” 

“Please do. Just remember that in another 
day I ’ll be back at my telephonic grind, while 
in a week you ’ll be sailing for semi-tropical 
seas.” 

She had fenced with him skilfully, and had 
succeeded in discouraging every attempt to 
lift the conversation from a commonplace, 
impersonal basis. At this more obvious effort 
her brows wrinkled and her smile disappeared. 
She seemed to make a quick mental decision, 
and almost immediately the smile reappeared. 

“You ’re a nice boy,” she announced, “and 
you say nice things, so I’m going to do as you 


298 VOICES 

ask. Furthermore, I’m going to tell you a 
secret. When Mr. Stacy invited me on the 
yachting party and, asked me to use my in¬ 
fluence to get Mr. Willmer to go, I agreed to 
accept if he would let me invite a friend. He 
assented, and I’ve invited the friend, although 
no one else knows who it is. The man I Ve 
invited is my fiance. That ’s part of the 
secret. The day we sail I’m going to be 
married, and the trip will be our honeymoon. 
That’s all of it.” 

Fenwick was staggered, and she was quick 
to realize it. 

“When we return we shall probably live in 
New York, and I ’ll want you to visit us and 
meet my husband. He’s a splendid chap, and 
I know you ’ll like each other. I’d prefer not 
to tell you more just now. May I rely on 
you to keep my secret?” 

“You may,” he assured her, regaining his 
composure. “I trust that you will be very, 
very happy. And now I ’ll go back to the 
library and listen to Seth’s report.” 

“I ’ll be there very soon,” she announced; 
and he left the room. 

Almost immediately after he rejoined the 
men in the library Boyden hurried in, 


AT TEN O’CLOCK 299 

“What’s the answer, Seth?” asked Charlie. 

“Yes!” shouted Seth. 

“Good! That just about cleans everything 
up. Miss Care we is coming in in a few min¬ 
utes; wants to be in at the finish. yVe ’ll wait 
for her.” 

The telephone gave a short, scarcely per¬ 
ceptible ring. 

“Mr. Willmer’s residence,” Charlie an¬ 
nounced. 

“The voices!” responded the calling party. 
“Please tell Mr. Willmer to keep faith with 
us. He has continued his efforts to learn who 
we are and to apprehend us. If he desists, he 
will not be annoyed. If he insists upon pur¬ 
suing the matter further, we will not feel bound 
to observe our agreement.” 

The voice was that of the person who had 
carried on the final negotiations resulting in 
the payment of the blackmail. 

“You must be mistaken,” answered Fen¬ 
wick. “Mr. Willmer is quite content to let 
the matter drop, and has already done so.” 

“That’s a lie!” was the response. “Inspec¬ 
tor Corson is with him now. If he is not con¬ 
tinuing his investigations, what are you doing 
there, Mr. Bell?” 


300 


VOICES 


“My name is not Bell,” answered Charlie. 
“You must have the wrong party. My name 
is Charlie Fenwick!” 

A muffled exclamation came over the wire. 

“Furthermore,” continued Charlie Fenwick, 
“your voice is the voice of Algernon Botsford, 
and I have just learned Algernon Botsford’s 
real name!” 

The voice made no response, and Fenwick 
again took up the conversation. 

“I think I have made my knowledge of the 
facts quite clear, and any attempt at evasion 
or escape will be futile. You will please fol¬ 
low my directions. Come to the library of 
Mr. Willmer’s home. I should prefer to have 
you come voluntarily, but if you won’t it will 
merely be a matter of minutes to fetch you 
here, and at the same time I ’ll deprive you of 
your telephone. Will you come?” 

“Yes,” assented the voice, and hung up. 

Fenwick placed a chair so that it faced the 
men, who were grouped in a semicircle. 

“For Mr. Algernon Botsford,” he an¬ 
nounced. “He should be here in a moment.” 

“Footsteps!” whispered Corson. 

They were silent, and could hear some one 
approaching the room. In a moment the 


AT TEN O'CLOCK 301 

footsteps were close at hand, and then Lor¬ 
raine Carewe stood in the doorway. 

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she greeted, 
smiling upon them indiscriminately. “Am I 
too late? Is all the excitement over?” 

“No, Miss Carewe,” answered Charlie. 
“In fact, it’s just beginning. Won’t you take 
this chair?” 

She accepted it with a word of thanks. 
“Gentlemen,” announced Fenwick, indicat¬ 
ing Willmer’s ward, “permit me to introduce 
the Girl with a Hundred Voices!” 


CHAPTER XX 


REVELATIONS 


NGRY mutters escaped Willmer and 



jLjL Corson at Fenwick’s astounding an¬ 
nouncement. Otis King turned pale, and 
even Boyden seemed stunned. The accused 
girl bravely held up her head and continued to 
smile as she met each pair of eyes in turn with¬ 
out flinching. 

“What hellish nonsense is this?” demanded 
Willmer gruffly. 

“Don’t make an utter ass of yourself, Fen¬ 
wick!” reproved Corson. 

Charlie merely sat down and waited. Lor¬ 
raine realized that he was waiting for her to 
speak, and she did not hesitate. 

“It’s quite true—all of it,” she announced. 
“I am the voices.” 

“You don’t know what you are saying, 
child,” put in Willmer. “You are still nervous 
and distraught. Go to your room, and I will 
talk with you later.” 


302 



REVELATIONS 


803 


She smiled and shook her head negatively. 

“I think I’d better stay,” she decided. “I 
know what I’m saying, and all of you know it 
to be true. I ’ve fancied all along that when 
this time came I would face my ordeal with 
considerable trepidation, but now that it’s here 
I don’t mind it a bit. I Ve a notion it’s going 
to be pretty good fun.” 
j “Lorraine!” rebuked Willmer. 

“Don’t worry, sir,” she advised. “I won’t 
say too much. Mr. Fenwick will probably do 
most of the talking.” She turned to him. 
“So you obtained the last two bits of informa¬ 
tion you required, did n’t you? Will you tell 
me how?” 

“Assuredly, Miss Carewe,” he answered, 
willingly. “When Seth established the fact 
that the cut-in station was not hooked up at 
any of the cable-boxes he visited, we knew that 
the only other place to look was here in the 
house. What did you find, Seth?” 

“Concealed wire to a clothes-closet in Miss 
Carewe’s room, sir. A magneto-set with 
battery, and a double-throw switch, just as 
you suspected. No amateur job, either.” 

“Of course not,” commented Fenwick. 
“It was installed by Cartier. As for the other 



304 


VOICES 


bit of information, Miss Carewe, I obtained it 
from a Mr. Stewart, who is now in San Fran¬ 
cisco. He assured me that Algernon Bots- 
ford was not a man, but a woman named Lor¬ 
raine Carewe. He said that Miss Carewe had 
a remarkable and curious voice which could 
only be described as a natural female barytone. 
I have heard two other voices like yours, Miss 
Carewe. One was in vaudeville; the other, on 
the concert stage. Neither, however, had the 
range of yours, and only the vaudeville per¬ 
former had the talent for mimicry which you 
possess.” 

“So that is how the voices knew of every 
action taken by the triumvirate,” murmured 
Willmer, evidently convinced. “You were in 
my confidence, of course, and used the infor¬ 
mation to best advantage. Why did you 
torture me, Lorraine?” 

“Money,” she answered briefly. “Shall I 
say more?” 

“No—not now,” he interposed hastily. “I 
should have known it was you. I knew of 
your talent for imitating the voices of others, 
but you threw me completely off the track 
with your elaborate system of deceptions. 
How often you pretended to receive calls from 


REVELATIONS 


305 


the voices during my absence, or when you sat 
in my office and answered the telephone while 
I was present ! But what is this I hear about 
phonograph records ?” 

“I asked you a long time ago to permit me 
to make use of my voice commercially, but you 
flatly refused. Said that it was n’t necessary 
to resort to such means to earn a livelihood, 
and that I could always make my home with 
you. I obtained a try-out with the Champion 
Phonograph Company while I was staying 
with the Camerons, in South Orange. My 
voice reproduced remarkably well. I told 
Mr. Stewart and Mr. Poole of the Champion 
Company that I did n’t want to use my own 
name, and Mr. Stewart suggested that I use a 
man’s name. He claims it has helped the 
sale of records, too.” 

“I meant well, Lorraine,” explained Will- 
mer apologetically. “You know how I’ve 
looked forward to a match between you and 
Otis. I felt that if you ever went upon the 
operatic or concert stage, or used your voice 
professionally in any way, you would never 
renounce a career for marriage.” 

“I knew that, of course,” she answered, 
directly. “I thought, however, that I had 


306 


VOICES 


made it perfectly clear to you that I would 
never marry Otis, who has been a splendid big 
brother to me. He’s been more than that, 
for I believe that he’s suspected my relation 
to the voices, and has protected me. Is n’t 
that so, Otis?” 

•The young financier nodded. 

“I was n’t sure,” he explained, “until I saw 
you steal down to the switchboard, night be¬ 
fore last. You pulled out the plugs which 
connected the ’phones in Fenwick’s room and 
Boyden’s room with central. Then you re¬ 
turned to your own room. I returned to mine, 
directly behind you, and Boyden almost caught 
me. 

“Was your car really stolen, Mr. King?” 
asked Corson. 

“Yes,” answered Otis, “although Nick really 
only meant to borrow it. He would have re¬ 
turned it.” 

“What had he been doing in this house?” 

“I think I can answer that,” volunteered 
Fenwick. “Something had gone wrong with 
the equipment he had installed for Miss 
Carewe, and she had sent for him to have the 
necessary repairs made.” 


REVELATIONS 


307 

“And what did Nick whisper to you as we 
rode down in your car from the Grand Cen¬ 
tral?” quizzed Corson. 

“He whispered, ‘Don’t get Miss Carewe in 
trouble.’ That verified my suspicions, and 
that is why I made no effort to stop him when 
he endeavored to escape. Incidentally, the 
telephone-call which afforded Nick an oppor¬ 
tunity to make a get-away occurred right after 
Lorraine left the room. When I learned later 
that the calling party had impersonated Mr. 
Willmer, I was certain that Lorraine had tele¬ 
phoned, because I know what stunts she could 
do with her voice.” 

“But you were sure of Miss Carewe’s com¬ 
plicity from the time you saw her at the 
switchboard, weren’t you?” pressed Corson. 
“Did n’t you make that call from the Grand 
Central to the Willmer Building yesterday 
morning?” 

“I did,” admitted King. T felt that if such 
a call occurred while Lorraine was with Fen¬ 
wick, it would divert suspicion from her.” 

“It did for a while,” admitted Fenwick. 
“What are your relations with the Branson 
girls, Miss Carewe?” 


308 


VOICES 


“Ethel, the younger, took music lessons with 
me at Professor Riccardi’s studio. I knew 
her at home, in Ithaca.” 

“I see. So when you learned that we sus¬ 
pected the voices of using a cut-in instrument 
on one of Mr. Willmer’s lines, you decided to 
obtain the use of the telephonic equipment in 
the Branson office. You pretended to retire, 
but left the house, obtained the key from 
Ethel Branson and motored down town. 
Whose clothes did you wear?” 

She blushed. 

“Mr. King’s,” she answered. “He had left 
them with Biggs, to be called for at some time 
by his man. You gave me a particularly 
thrilling chase, Mr. Fenwick.” 

“My sentiments, exactly,” chuckled Charlie. 

“But where does this fellow Cartier, or 
Nick, fit in the picture?” 

“I think Miss Carewe had better explain 
that,” responded Charlie. 

“His name is James Cartier,” she began. 
“We went to high school together, and at¬ 
tended the same coeducational college. We’ve 
been friends since childhood; I suppose our 
mutual interest in music was responsible for 
that. James became an electrical engineer, 


REVELATIONS 309 

but did not achieve much success commercially. 
He ’s very erratic and is not a good business 
man. He’s imaginative and inventive, and 
has the artistic temperament. 

“After he graduated he obtained several 
successive positions which he gave up because 
he found routine work irksome. Then he 
came to New York and took a job with the 
telephone company as an installer. I flat¬ 
tered myself that he did it to be near me, and 
endeavored to persuade him to follow his pro¬ 
fession, but he ’d just laugh and insist that he 
had a very definite object in learning some¬ 
thing about telephony. He assisted in the 
installation of the loud-speaking telephones at 
Madison Square Garden, which were used to 
transmit President Harding’s speech at the 
burial of the Unknown Soldier. That was 
what he had been after all the time, and it gave 
him an opportunity to conduct some secret 
experiments. James has established the fact 
that perfect phonographic reproductions of 
the human voice can be made, using the loud¬ 
speaker to transmit the voice to the blank 
master record. He’s made application for 
patents, and is going into the business of man¬ 
ufacturing records after—after—” 


310 VOICES 

“After what, Lorraine?” asked Willmer, 
gently. 

“After we are married, sir.” 

“What?” roared Willmer. “Married? I’ll 
never consent to it! You’ve been imposed 
upon, my child, by a half-baked genius who is 
also a fortune-hunter. You ’ll give up the 
notion of marrying him at once. I promised 
your father that I’d take care of you, and I 
mean to do it. If you want to marry Otis, 
all right. If you don’t, you ’ll stay right here 
with me, instead of running off with this pic¬ 
turesque and imaginative villain who induces 
you to torture, torment, and blackmail your 
guardian. Incidentally, where is my money?” 

“Mr. Stacy still has it and is holding it for 
you,” she responded. “He’s perfectly in 
sympathy with everything I’ve done, even 
to slightly drugging you, but he won’t give me 
the money without your consent. I’m going 
to marry James. He’s good, handsome, im¬ 
aginative, and romantic as you suggest, and 
somewhat picaresque. Oh, I’m not denying 
that he’s a bit of a rogue! That’s one of the 
reasons I love him. We are going to be mar¬ 
ried next week, with your consent, and will 
honeymoon to Bermuda on Commissioner 


REVELATIONS 


311 


Stacy’s yacht. Is there anything else, sir? 
If there is n’t, I should like to go to my room. 
I’m tired.” 

The strain appeared to be telling on her, 
and, despite her efforts at self-control, her lips 
trembled. 

“Go to your room, child,” muttered Will- 
mer hoarsely. “We’ll continue our conver¬ 
sation in the morning. 

“Thank you,” she acknowledged gratefully. 
“Good night.” 

She paused in front of Fenwick and ex¬ 
tended her hand, which he clasped firmly. 

“Next to James and Otis, I like Charlie 
Fenwick,” she announced. “He was per¬ 
fectly sure that I was responsible for the 
voices, and yet he came to me within the last 
hour and asked for my friendship. When 
James first suggested the invention of the 
voices and the use of the telephone, he said 
that there would be no risk, because the only 
man capable of detecting our scheme was 
Charlie Fenwick, out in Springfield. 

“James didn’t know you, but had heard 
of you. We did n’t believe that you’d be called 
in on the case, and when you told me your real 
name over the telephone to-night I thought 


312 


VOICES 


I’d sink through the floor of my closet. I 
knew there was no use in bluffing. But 
you ’re not a terrifying criminologist, and I ’ll 
always think of you as a real nice boy. Good 
night.’’ 

He dropped her hand, and she slipped out of 
the room. 

“This is serious, sir,” pointed out Corson, 
addressing Willmer. “What action do you 
propose to take regarding this girl?” 

“I don’t know,” confessed the financier 
brokenly. “Let me sleep on it. I shall cer¬ 
tainly endeavor to get my money back, and 
will use my influence to prevent this mad mar¬ 
riage. Perhaps I can frighten her by pre¬ 
tending to turn her over to you, Corson.” 

“You would n’t dare,” declared Fenwick. 

“Perhaps not,” he admitted weakly. “It’s 
sheer ingratitude, gentlemen! Think of the 
affection and care I have lavished upon Lor¬ 
raine Carewe! I have indulged her every 
whim, and have denied her nothing. This is 
how I am repaid. It’s bitter, gentlemen; 
it’s bitter. She seems to have grown cold, to 
have lost all respect and feeling for me. The 
loss of the money which she has obtained by 


REVELATIONS 


313 


fraud is as nothing compared to the realiza¬ 
tion of that fact.” 

Otis King, to the surprise of the others, 
laughed aloud. 

“Stow it, sir,” he advised. “That’s hypo¬ 
critical cant, and you know it!” 

“What in hell do you mean?” blustered 
Willmer, his manner undergoing a complete 
change. 

“You know damned well what I mean,” 
answered King, coolly, arising. “Come 
along, Corson, and say good-by to Mr. Will¬ 
mer. He won’t want to see you again.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE SMALLEST VOICE 

W ILLMER displayed deep indignation 
as Corson and King left the room. 
“I’ll teach that young whipper-snapper his 
place,” he threatened. “As if I’m going to 
be content to let the matter drop! I ’ll have 
her arrested, if need be. Think of the agony 
and suspense I’ve been through; think of the 
sleepless nights those voices have caused.” 

“Mr. Willmer,” observed Charlie, “some 
years ago you obtained from Art Carewe 
certain options on a railroad right of way 
which he held. You convinced him that these 
options were valueless, hut subsequently you 
realized a quarter of a million dollars on them. 
Art Carewe never obtained a penny from you 
in return. Just before his death you prom¬ 
ised him that you would do the right thing by 
his daughter. 

“She heard you, and believed with her dying 
father that you intended to recompense her 

314 


THE SMALLEST VOICE 815 

with a share of the money you had obtained 
through sharp practice. You had no such in¬ 
tention. You love money better than any¬ 
thing else in the world, and could never bring 
yourself to part with so gigantic a sum. So 
you brought Lorraine to live with you, adopted 
her as your legal ward, used her as a pri¬ 
vate secretary, and stifled her ambition to em¬ 
bark on a career. In the midst of luxury she 
was almost penniless. All the time you com¬ 
forted yourself with the reflection that some 
day she would inherit most of your vast 
wealth, and the old score would be evened in 
that way. You wished and hoped for her 
marriage to Otis King, in order eventually to 
unite two huge fortunes.” 

“True enough,” agreed Willmer, “What 
was the harm?” 

“The harm lay in the fact that you refused 
the girl an opportunity for self-expression 
during the best years of her life. You made 
her a veritable poor little rich girl. Clothes 
she had in abundance, as well as food and 
shelter, but you could n’t or would n’t give her 
happiness. Acting upon the advice of the 
somewhat erratic chap who had won her 
affection, she fought you in the only way a 


316 


VOICES 


man of your stripe can be fought. She 
attacked your imagination, and did it success- 
fully. The voices would not let you rest, 
night or day.” 

“Right,” agreed Willmer. “Would you 
have me overlook that fact now?” 

“You will overlook it,” declared Fenwick. 
“You ’re bound to. You weren’t frightened 
or tormented by those bizarre voices you heard 
over the telephone. They were not material 
agencies seeking to do you physical injury. 
There was only one Voice that bothered you, 
and that was here.” Fenwick thumped his 
breast with clenched fist. 

“It was a tiny voice, sir, but how clear! The 
still, strong voice of Conscience that makes 
cowards of us all. You heard it every time 
a telephone bell rang; you hear it now, and 
you ’ll never cease to hear it until you say to 
Lorraine Car ewe: “Take the money, my 
child; it belongs to you. Forgive me!’ ” 

Willmer was silent as Fenwick concluded, 
and did not stir. Charlie walked over to him 
and laid a persuading hand on his shoulder. 

“Silence that voice, sir. You promised 
Art Carewe you’d do the right thing, and 
that’s it. You don’t need the money; you ’ll 


THE SMALLEST VOICE 317 

never miss it. It may even teach you the joy 
and blessings of giving. Will you?” 

Willmer arose, shaking Fenwick’s hand 
aside. The action was unintentional, how¬ 
ever, for in another second he had found it 
with his own and pressed it warmly. 

“Fenwick,” he promised, “I’ll do it!” 
There were tears in his eyes. 

“You ’ll never regret it, sir,” assured Fen¬ 
wick, consulting his watch. “Just eleven 
o’clock, and the mystery of the voices has been 
solved!” 

“And Charlie Fenwick still remains the 
wizard of the wires!” Willmer turned to 
Seth, who had been mute throughout the inter¬ 
view. “You two will stay to-night, won’t 
you?” he asked. 

“I guess we’d better be leavin’, sir,” an¬ 
swered Boyden. “We ought to be doin’ what 
the fellers did in the fourth chapter of Acts, 
twenty-third verse.” 

“What was that?” smiled Willmer, through 
his tears. 

“ ‘They went to their own company and re¬ 
ported,’ ” quoted Seth. 





































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